#Prompt: Facing Their Phobia

[kybercrystals94]

When Fears Are Faced

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Bad Things Happen Bingo | Prompt: Facing their phobia

Rating: G

Words: 721

Summary: Hunter faces his greatest fear… [[this story might make more sense if you’ve read Where Fears Are Born (by me!) & Phobia (by @just-here-with-my-thoughts) first!]]

(This story takes place mid season 1)

TW: Arachnophobia (you might wanna skip this little story if you have issues with spiders…)

It isn’t fair.

None of this is fair.

Tech is the one who suggested swim lessons in the first place, so, really, he should be the one standing here compromising. That would be fair. That would be reasonable. But instead, somehow, someway, Tech is standing a dozen meters away and half a step behind Wrecker’s bulking, trembling form. At least the cowards have the decency to look sympathetic.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Hunter asks, forcing a gruffness into his voice to hide the way it wants to pitch an octave.

“Yes, Hunter, it’s perfectly harmless,” Echo says. Hunter isn’t looking at the cyborg’s face, but he can practically hear the eye roll.

“It’s true,” Tech calls from his safe distance, “I double checked the data myself.”

Shut up, Tech, Hunter wants to retort, but he bites his tongue. You’re doing this for the kid. If she can handle it…you can handle it.

“And look how cute it is!” Omega croons, holding her cupped hands up for Hunter’s horrified inspection, “It’s fuzzy!” Hunter does not look at it, averting his eyes. Omega pulls her hands back, and gently strokes the demon with her pinky. “Do you think it likes this, Echo? Me petting it?”

“Arachnids do not register affectionate gestures in the same way that traditionally domesticated creatures do,” Tech offers, voice carrying on the gentle breeze that has picked up.

Hunter grits his teeth. “If you know so much about them, why don’t you come over here and do this?” he asks.

“That was not the agreement.”

Omega smiles up at Hunter with the sweetest, most affectionate show of teeth he’s ever seen. “I promise it won’t hurt you,” she says.

Hunter wants to crawl out of his skin. He wants to call this whole thing off. He wants to knock Tech and Wrecker’s heads together for getting him into this mess. Instead, he tries so hard to smile back at his little sister. “Okay,” he says, “if I hold the spider—”

“—for thirty seconds—” Echo puts in quickly.

Hunter shoots him a look but turns his focus back to Omega. “If I hold the spider for thirty seconds,” he emphasizes for Echo’s benefit, “then you’ll let us teach you how to swim, right?”

Omega nods eagerly. “If you face your fear, I’ll face mine!” She bounces on her toes, so excited.

This isn’t fair!

Hunter wrings his hands together nervously. This is one of the worst moments of my life.

“Are you ready?” Omega asks.

No! Hunter holds out his hand. “As I’ll ever be.”

Wrecker and Tech lean in from their safe distance.

Omega drops the spider in Hunter’s hand.

Hunter can’t ever hope to try and deny the pathetic creak of his voice when the eight-legged monster scrambles confusedly across his palm. It finally settles near the base of his fingers, perching with its legs drawn up. He might as well be holding literal flame.

“Awww,” Omega lilts joyfully, “it likes you, Hunter!”

“How much longer?” he asks Echo.

Echo is watching his chrono. “It’s only been five seconds.”

“No it hasn’t!” Hunter protests.

“Now ten.”

Hunter’s muscles feel taut as Omega’s bow string. He might be shaking a little, but he isn’t sure if he actually is, or if it’s just his vision going a little foggy.

“You are doing so good, Hunter!” Omega says encouragingly, touching his arm. “I am so proud of you!”

This is kriffing humiliating. A little kid is telling a full-grown man that she’s proud of him for holding a karking bug!

“Twenty seconds.”

“You’re over halfway there, Hunter! Just a few more seconds.”

“Five, four, three, two, one…Done!”

Omega snatches the spider out of Hunter’s hand before he can hurl it across the meadow (and maybe directly in Tech and Wrecker’s direction). “You did it!”

Hunter has to lock his knees to keep himself upright. He can feel the cool beading of sweat across his brow. He wipes his hand harshly against his pant leg, trying to get the feeling of spider legs off his skin.

Omega trots over to a nearby tree and lets the spider crawl off her hand and onto the bark. She watches it until it climbs out of her reach before she skips back to Hunter. “I’m ready for my swim lesson!”

END

I dedicate this story to @just-here-with-my-thoughts! Thanks for the fun idea…I hope it lives up to your expectations 😂

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to the Tag List!✨

[writersbeware]

Phobia Time

            You need to introduce some spice into your story. One way to do that is to let your protagonist’s phobias pop out unexpectedly.             For example, he’s in the shower when a large, brown spider drops on his shoulder. If he’s okay with spiders, he might try to catch it so as to release it outside. However, if he’s terrified, he’ll jump as he brushes it away. He might scream,…

[clare-875]

Not You (Levi x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader Summary: Levi has a nightmare that he loses you and he doesn't handle it well Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Descriptions of blood and death, Reverse comfort [AOT Masterlist] _____

It was one scream. Piercing and sharp as it rang through the air, but Levi knew instantly who it was. His heart rate picks up, pure panic reaching the depths of his mind, prompting the movement of his body as he runs. His eyes dart around him but all he sees is darkness. Where were you? Another scream echoes through space threatening hysteria. His body moves, it had come from his right. He runs faster, sweat drenching his form. His limbs are heavy, as though he trudged through mud. His mind was pacing, pushing away the thoughts of the worst. He curses the way he seems to have forgotten something as simple as movement as it feels like eons until he catches a glimpse of a struggling shadow. His breath gets caught in his throat, his feet now stuck to the ground by some invisible chain that he can't wretch free of. His heart races so fast he can now scarcely breathe and he doesn't know how to escape the oncoming terror.

"LEVI!!" Your voice is shrill pushing through the restraints of your panic and pain. It seeps through the sobs that rake through your body, it drips with fear and dread, just like the blood that pours from you. Crimson adorns your figure; it's all Levi can see. It falls from your hands that try to pry away from the Titan you are in the hold of, it falls from your temple seeping into the white of your eyes, it breaks from your skin under the weight of its hold. Your gaze is frantic, panic-driven; it's horror. "[y-y/n]?" Levi's voice is lost in the phobia that fills him. His breath shakes and stutters as he tries to move, but again he fails. Why why why why. It's all that fills him, the same words on his mind. Why were you here? Why were you dying; he had sworn to keep you safe. Why can't he move? "L-LEVI, PLEASE-!!" Your voice is helpless under the weight of your oncoming demise as it pleads him to move. He tries. He has never tried so hard to get his slack limbs to move as much as he did now. He tries to push against the agony and restraint and yet nothing.

"[Y-Y/N]!!"

His voice is a roar across space as your eyes look at him in pure devastation. "W-why, why won't you save me?" Levi's heart drops to the floor at your utter devastation and the sobs that lace your words. The heavy feeling of your voiced disappointment churns in his chest. No. "I-" Levi tries to speak once more but now it feels as though the restraints on his form have gagged him of speech. No. God please no. "You said you'd save me, you promised-" Your voice is interrupted by another agonising scream that has Levi losing his mind. He struggles to connect his mind to his body and yet no matter how much he cries in silence there is no movement. Levi feels hot tears of pure panic reach the rims of his eyes, threatening to break free as he bears witness to the series of events he has seen too often in his life. But not you, please not you. "L-Levi," His eyes are forced upon a sight he wished he died before he'd see. The Titan evidently has had enough of its malice as it squeezes hard against your form, causing your body to collapse under the hold. In the silence the final wheeze of your voice, "Save me."

Levi's gasps are erratic as his eyes shoot open meeting darkness. His confused state is dangerously out of control as he grasps at the bed sheets beneath him for stability, squeezing them so tight he almost tears it. His mind reels trying to catch up to reality, but the events of what has happened in his mind are still eerily sure in his head. He tries to control his hysteric state, pushing his hands into his face breathing shortly before trying to slow them down. Was it real? Please no. No no no no... Levi's hand has never darted so quickly to the figure that should be beside him; beside him asleep. Only, his hand meets a coolness that has his heart jolting harshly in his chest. His eyes dart to his side, gaze wide, mind frantic. When he sees that no one is there, that you aren't there, that's when he loses it, he is lost in hysteria.

Levi flies out from his bed unstable, eyes darting in the darkness of the room. His voice is lost within him out of fear at the lack of response he might find. He turns on the lamps in the room to see the empty space around him, he moves quick across your shared bedroom ripping open doors and racing across space. "[y-y/n]" His voice is breathless, barely heard as he unsteadily rushes across the rooms. He checks the office, he checks the bathroom, he checks every crevice no matter how stupid it might be. He needs to. He needs you to be alive; to be here. "[y/n]!" His voice is louder now but is met with silence. The only response that reaches him now is the dwindling remembrance of your voice; your words. "You promised me." Levi shakes his head, hand raking through his locks harshly. "Please." Levi goes for the door handle, intent on ripping apart headquarters to find you, to prove he hadn't failed you. "Save me." Tears threaten him as he goes to open the door only for it to open abruptly.

It revealed you.

You look up in surprise, having got yourself something quick to drink in the middle of the night from the kitchen. It had been a long internal debate; you knowing the effects of PTSD upon both of you. It brought horrendous nightmares, ones that had you questioning your reality; your sanity. But Levi had finally seemed to be asleep long and well enough for you to slip briefly from the bed beside him so you could quench your thirst. Evidently, you were wrong. Levi looks at you in shock, rigid form and tears lingering in his eyes. He looks tense, more than you have ever seen; as though one wrong move might cause devastation. You find yourself rigid as your eyes turn behind him to where the room you had left is now pulled apart as though there was a struggle. Your gaze meets your lover once more as your mind connects the dots.

You move forward hesitantly. "Levi?" He turns to you then, finally breaking free of the turmoil he had faced in such a short period of time. You move forward seeing the shock, the dread, the relief pouring from him. You reach out gently and he instantly responds to your touch as you hold him against you and he puts his arms tight around your form. His hands shake subtly but his embrace is taut and you let him be. He lets himself breathe. He lets himself catch up to reality. He begs to whatever being is up there, that they don't take you away from him. You stay there for long moments, him just matching your breathing, inhaling your sweet scent and losing himself in the soft caress of your touch. Him, gripping onto his sanity.

"Levi?" You say softly once you have stayed in his tight embrace for several long moments. You feel his limbs slowly start to slack as he releases you of his form, but barely lets you an inch out of his grasp. "Are you okay?" Levi can barely look up to you as you meet his shadowed gaze. "I'm sorry, I just went to get something to drink. I didn't think- What happened?" Levi's hand is within your own as you squeeze it gently, hoping to provide some comfort to his blatant pain. Levi's voice shakes but drips of grief and exhaustion as he speaks to you. "Just don't- don't die... not you." You look up at his defeated form, so uncharacteristically vulnerable, so utterly embodied by the emotions you know he tries so hard to hide. You pull him to the couch in the room as you sit beside each other. "I won't."

The both of you know that there was no truth to your words. Anyone could die when beyond the walls; it seemed death would come even when you were within them. But Levi allowed the contentment of your words to seep within him. He allowed your hands to gently caress his raven locks and allowed the warmth of your body to bring him back to his reality. He pushed away the lingering words you spoke to him in the depths of his dreams: the disappointment, the echoing screams. He never told you all of what happened in his nightmare but you could guess well enough. You found all the answers you would need in the way he muttered under his breath until the morning sun shone past the far-off horizon.

"Not you..."

[moonstruckme]

Hiiiiii mae 🥹 I have a prompt if you might be interested? First prompt not-anon, second request total 💃🏻

At work they play the radio and I heard in an interview that humans are born with only 2 natural fears: falling and loud sounds. Those fears are universal and the only things people are born fearing - every other fear is learned!

I couldn’t help but think of sweet Spencer explaining this when placating (or trying to placate) reader who is anxious/has a phobia/is feeling nervous! Hope it inspires something but no pressure xoxoxoxoxo love you long time

Hey babe, thanks for requesting!!

cw: public speaking anxiety, criminal case in court (case details not discussed)

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 573 words

You’re cold with sweat and trembling in your fingers when Spencer sits down next to you. 

“Hi,” he says. He sounds nearly as nervous as he makes you. His voice, you’ve noticed, is as gentle as his disposition, unchanging regardless of who he’s speaking to. And you’ve heard plenty of Spencer Reid’s voice throughout this case. 

You keep your arms stuck tight to your sides, wary of what you suspect to be atrociously large pit stains. “Hi.” 

“Do you want some water?” 

You take the bottle he holds out to you, not because you do want it but because you’re too nervous to contradict anyone about anything right now. You wonder if that makes you susceptible to suggestion. If so, that will probably not hold up very well in literal court. 

If Spencer’s dissatisfied with the tiny sip you take from the water bottle, he doesn’t say so. 

“You seem nervous,” he says, somehow both kind and matter-of-fact at once. “Is it because of the defense?” 

You shake your head, though that’s not untrue. The defense attorney is only one of the myriad of people you’re going to be expected to speak in front of in a few minutes. Your heart is a squirrel in your chest, scampering wildly

“I don’t really like public speaking,” you say. 

Spencer nods pensively. He’s good at this, at making you feel like he’s really absorbing what you have to say. You’ve wondered on occasion if it’s part of his training. 

“You know, it’s interesting,” he says. “There are actually only two natural fears that humans are born with; falling and loud sounds. Everything else is learned, we pick it up somewhere.” Spencer sets his elbows on his legs, slouching so he can see your face. He’s so handsome it’s unbearable. “Where do you think your fear of public speaking came from?” 

It has the makings of a personal question, but Spencer’s curiosity seems so pure it’s hard to hold it against him. 

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “It’s just always made me nervous.” 

Spencer’s mouth purses. “It might have been so early or subtle that you don’t remember. For a lot of people it comes from feeling like they’re going to be judged.” 

Your lip finds its way between your teeth without your permission, and when you look over Spencer’s gaze is knowing. 

“Everyone is here to judge the accused,” he says gently, “not you. You’re important as a witness, and we’re lucky to have you here, but no one is going to care if you mess up. Their job is to pay attention to what you say, not how you say it. All you have to do is tell the truth.” 

“Yeah.” You try to breathe in, but the air won’t settle in your lungs. “Yeah, okay.” 

“There shouldn’t be any loud sounds or falling in there,” Spencer goes on. If he wasn’t such a professional, you’d almost think he was joking with you. “So nothing’s going to hurt you. You’ll be okay, okay?” 

You glance at him again, and the profiler’s lips are curved in a small smile. You don’t know how he can do it, stay so good when he spends his whole day knee-deep in the minds of bad guys. But despite what he does for a living and all he’s certainly been through because of it, there’s a lightness about Spencer. It feels like peace. 

“Yeah,” you say again. “Thanks.” 

[fairy-writes]

Hello ^-^ Congrats got 1.6k you deserve it!

Can i please request prompt 8 with Soshiro from kaiju no 8

BREATHE WITH ME

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: “You know, they say crying has all these health benefits.”

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8 

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Established Relationships, Panic Attacks, Mentions of Blood, Hemophobia (an irrational fear of blood), Sweetheart as a Nickname

Notes: We’re ignoring the fact that I wrote something similar with Morbius a while back.

Also, fun fact, I have a Hoshina phone charm on my phone!

TRIGGER WARNING FOR PANIC ATTACKS

__________________________________________________________________________

You should’ve known you weren’t cut out for kaiju extermination. In fact, you probably knew already. You just didn’t want to admit it. 

It was evident even in the beginning. To say you were squeamish around blood would be an understatement. Even the sight of a slightly pink paper cut would send you spiraling into a mess of vomiting and tears and snot and panic. 

But through it all, Soshiro was by your side. 

You weren’t sure why he put up with you. He was… Amazing? Phenomenal? Completely out of your league? To say it simply, it was no wonder he was a vice-captain and you simply… weren’t. 

The sirens awoke you in the middle of the night, sending you bolting out of bed and into your suit in record time. The cadets were bleary-eyed and fresh-faced, still learning the ropes, and it was your job as a senior officer to show them. 

But they didn’t know about your… Issue? Phobia? Minor hiccup? 

Who were you kidding? This was way more than a minor hiccup. But you could deal with it later. Right now, you have a kaiju to exterminate. 

Things went south really quickly on what should have been a routine mission. 

Well… Not at first. In fact, you were celebrating to yourself the fact that you hadn’t seen any blood yet other than kaiju ichor, but that hardly counted. It was strange, you could deal with the purplish ick that all kaiju had running through their veins. But the regular red stuff you had in yours? That was a huge no-no. Everyone in the platoon knew this and kept their bleeding injuries faaar away from you. 

Everyone except for the cadets, that is. 

The sound of someone calling your last name caught your attention. You were in the locker rooms, back to the door, cleaning your weapon with a clean cloth. Unlike Soshiro, you used guns. You were no good with knives or swords. Not as bad as Captain Ashiro, but still, your cooking skills were subpar, and your fiancé handled all the cooking in your home. 

“Yes?” You ask and turn, not hearing a harsh “stop!” until it was too late. 

Almost immediately, your eyes zeroed in and locked on the problem. A gash, nothing too major, but it might still scar. Blood seeped through the hastily applied bandages around Furuhashi Iharu's left arm. 

But that was enough to trigger the panic. 

Murky. 

Red. 

Pain. 

Choking. 

Everything was a swirl of colors, like a messed-up sort of carnival. You vaguely heard someone panting and crying on the edge of your hearing. But you could barely hear anything over the sound of your own thundering heartbeat. 

“—et the vice-captain!” 

What? 

What was happening? 

The overwhelming, cloying scent of iron was thick in your nostrils. It sucked the life out of you and made your knees and hands shake. Suddenly, something was cold against your back, and you realized you must’ve fallen against the lockers. There was a hand against your shoulder, and you flinched violently, jerking away. Your head cracked against the corner of the locker room bench, and you saw stars. 

The hands didn’t stop. They kept trying to pull you up, pull you away, pull you toward the blood. 

Distantly, you heard someone scream. It took you a few seconds to realize that it was you screaming. It was you panting and crying. It was all you. 

A gentle hand. 

A soothing voice. 

“—eetheart, you gotta breathe. Breathe with me.” 

Soshiro. 

It was like slipping into a cool bath after being outside in sweltering hot weather, like coming inside to a crackling fire after being out in a blizzard. You let out a little gasp, and suddenly, it was like your vision cleared. The violet blob turned into your fiancé's face, and you could feel his calloused fingers gently cupping your face. 

He was here. 

He was real. 

The blood was gone. 

A grin cracked the corners of his mouth when he saw your gaze refocus on him. 

“There we go. Good job, sweetheart. Welcome back.” He said, and although his voice was a whisper, you still flinched. His grin faltered lightly, but he pressed on. 

“Can I help you up?” He whispered, even quieter now, and you nodded hesitantly. 

“That would be nice.” You whimpered. Worry was evident in his eyes as he got to his feet and helped you up slowly. 

“You took a pretty nasty hit t’ the noggin. Let’s get you to the infirmary.” He said, and you froze. Was Furuhashi still out there? He had been in the doorway when… Everything happened. 

Soshiro caught on immediately, and he hummed lightly, 

“He’s gone. He was the one who got me.” He said, and you nodded again. 

“Okay.” You said softly and could still feel your heart racing in your chest. Soshiro kept a hand at your back and another at your elbow as he maneuvered you toward the infirmary. 

The infirmary was empty save for the doctor. He had obviously dismissed everyone who could be dismissed by the time you arrived. 

You were checked quickly, and other than a slight bump on the back of your head, you were given a clean bill of health. There wasn’t a concussion, so you were told to go home and rest. Soshiro drove you both home. His hand was on your thigh the entire time, his other hand on the steering wheel. You leaned your head on the cold passenger side window.

The ride home was silent. 

“Why do you put up with me?” You asked as he unlocked the door to your shared apartment. He paused while fiddling with the door. 

“Because I love you.” He said simply, and your teeth ground together. 

“But why?” You demanded, and he sighed, turning to look at you. 

“Because you make me better. I love you, all of you.” He said earnestly, and you felt tears in your already puffy eyes. 

“I love you too, Soshiro.” You whisper, and your heart flutters at the sight of his grin. 

“I know.” He says cheekily, and you thump him on the arm. 

He doesn’t even flinch. 

As tears fall down your face, you can’t help but laugh. 

“You know, they say crying has all these health benefits.” You blubber, and his smile just gets warm, wrinkling the corners of his eyes as he leans in to give you a watery kiss. 

[finniestoncrane]

Requests about anyone ye say? In that case, chef's choice for your preferred Scarecrow scaring their significant other and how they would react to said person attempting to scare him in return? Much love to ya <3

Scarecrow Headcanons aaaaaaaah!! thank you bud!! so much lvoe back to you for this smashing idea, and i'm going to pick golden age jon because i have THOUGHTS about this silly little beast on this exact subject 🎃🧡 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: couple of suggestive things, but this is mostly just cutesy fluff, it does mention phobias and attempts at scaring people but like... it's scarecrow so... yeah

fear is obviously the way he shows his dominance, the way he finds his control

but it's also, weirdly or not really, the way he shows affection too

call it exposure therapy, or conditioning, but he wants his significant other to be able to withstand anything

and when it comes to him, it really could be anything

sure he just seems like some stuffy professor, scruffy and tired and stuck in a fantasy world within the pages of his books

but he has big plans, and he'd hate to think he might lose you

especially if it happened because he was too frightening for you

so expect to be pushed to your limits when it comes to your fears and phobias

once he knows what it is that gets you, he'll utilise it in order to elicit the perfect reaction from you

it's a confusing game, for both of you

it pains him to have to cause this kind of trauma to someone he adores, but it's a necessary evil

and then the aftercare always sweetens the deed, like a little sugary treat after some sickly medicine

and for you, it's a lot to constantly face your fears

but there's something thrilling about seeing a more confident and dangerous side to crane

something about the adrenaline rush has both of you going

so it's only natural that you might consider making an attempt at scaring him

returning the favour, making sure he knows you care enough about his... hobbies

at first, it knocks him back a little, throws him off his game

he's screeching, clutching his chest, adjusting his glasses with stuttered words

but once he's regained his composure he's acutely aware that there's a tingle in his bones

there's something delightfully sinful about it all

and he manages to pinpoint it to the notion of corruption

he's turned you to the dark side, a follower of his manifesto, a true partner in crime

[jamneuromain]

A Whiff of Blood

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader, Graphic Depiction of Violence (I guess Lloyd is a warning of his own?), Reader has light hemophobia (fear of blood), and ofc, the direction mention and description of blood, sexual harassment

Summary: It is a dumb idea to be working for Lloyd when you have hemophobia.

A/N: Based on the prompt from the bingo challenge. The inspiration came from @rogerswifesblog / @rogerswifesblog-updates when we were talking about business dinners and such.

The whiff of blood drifts out of Lloyd's office. You scrunch your nose and pull out a piece of tissue with a floral scent to cover half your face.

It is a dumb idea to be working for Lloyd when you have hemophobia.

The smell grows stronger, so you uncap your perfume and spritz it all over you.

As long as you turn your head the other way, or mask the scent with something stronger, your phobia will not act up. And considering Lloyd is paying you a hefty salary and bonus, you don't complain.

After all, when choosing jobs, at best, you can only pick two features out of "well-paid", "light work", or "close to home".

You are lucky that you can drive for an hour on weekends to visit your mom who lives in the suburb.

The door to his office swings open with a loud "bang", as if - no, probably, Lloyd kicks it open, and out comes two bodyguards dragging a heavy black garbage bag.

Quite heavy. Like 70 kilograms heavy.

You wouldn't want to speculate what is inside.

You turn your head the other way, facing a rather pleased Lloyd Hansen, the mob boss who pays you to be his secretary.

"Mr. Hansen, I've secured the dinner tonight at 7 pm with Mr. Suza Brewer. He owns the biker gang Hellbend ever since you helped him take out the previous leader Fitzroy. You will be having dinner at the restaurant named Bird. It's adjacent to the Ritz-Carlton, so you can take your pick whether to stay in your suite or go back home. Either way, I'll go tell your driver Denny to get ready." You don't even bother getting up, spinning your chair in his direction, you hand him the files, with a polite smile on your face, "These, I need you to sign so your clubs will be running as usual. Your head accountant Marilyn has an appointment with you in fifteen minutes, and I've called the cleaning crew. They are ready to clean up your office right now."

Lloyd snatches a tissue paper from your desk, wiping his silver blood-stained ring on his middle finger clean, before tossing the reddened, soaked, and irritating odor tissue onto the ground and out of your sight. A small smirk on his lips, Lloyd purses his lips to stroke his mustache with his finger, "Send them in."

You nod, picking up your phone from your desk, when he holds up his hand to stop you for a moment.

"Good job, Y/N." He says curtly.

Lloyd's icy blue eyes zero on you. After a few seconds, he speaks up again, "You're coming to the dinner with me."

You nearly jump from your chair. Shocked, but most importantly, confused, because he has never asked you to present during business dinners.

After all, those who were qualified for "business" are either ruthless or sociopathic. While your boss Lloyd is both, you are neither.

"Mr. Hansen, I-"

"You're off for the rest of the day. Call Denny, he knows where to buy a decent dress." He pulls out his wallet from his inside pocket, and hands his black card to you, "Consider this a bonus." His tone unrelenting, pushing the card on the desk further towards you, he issues his final command, "And tell Denny to find you a stylist."

You swallow your refusal and take his black card.

You know he doesn't take "no" for an answer.

"Thank you, Mr. Hansen."

He hums impatiently, waving his hand to gesture that the conversation is over for him.

For the first hour of the said "business dinner", you try your best to focus on the food in front of you, instead of the Brewer man. He is a few inches shorter than Lloyd, but the look he delivers when he stares at you is simply...

Fearful. Even more than Lloyd.

Having worked for Lloyd for nearly three years, you witnessed he yelled, shouted, pulled out his gun to shoot someone's brain out (you vomited on to his shoes, very unfortunately, for which he yelled at you for approximately half an hour), and of course, being mad at some business partners and the determination in his eyes to eliminate his rivals. But none of his looks scared you like the creepy feeling Suza Brewer brings you.

Lloyd gives off the vibe that he will shoot you alive, while Suza Brewer could skin someone alive. And Suza has not stopped stealing glances in your direction ever since you and Lloyd presented in this dinner.

You look at your plate, cutting a small chunk of carrot in half. Trying your best to ignore the four bodyguards, two from Lloyd and two from Brewer, standing in the back.

Convincing yourself. Maybe this Brewer guy likes to look, similar to many men who passed by your desk to reach Lloyd's office.

You raise your eyes carefully, taking a long exhale as you continue to persuade yourself that Suza Brewer brought a lady to the dinner, probably also why Lloyd has asked you to come along.

After a few glasses of wine, the girl Suza brought sat on his lap boldly, feeding him bites of cherry tomatoes.

"I'll say yes to your proposal. You and me, 50-50." Suza suddenly lets out a laugh, "I just want one tiny thing to sweeten the deal." He squints his eyes, and points his finger towards you, "I want - her."

The small chunk of carrot lingers on your lips as you are about to eat.

The young girl's jealousy could tear you in half, Suza's greasy lips smack together, as if tasting your flesh, and Lloyd simply looks at you, with minimum expression you have ever seen on his face.

"Excuse me?" Lloyd clenches his teeth.

"C'mon, buddy." Brewer smacks Lloyd a bit too hard on his shoulder, barking laughter with his yellow crooked teeth exposed into the air, "You can't keep such a sexy thing all to yourself, eh?" He wiggles his eyes suggestively, "Don't tell me you haven't fucked her yet?"

Now you HAVE to say something.

"Mr. Brewer, I assure you that my work with Mr. Hansen is strictly professional." You smile politely, raising your glass for a toast, "In fact, I think that's what we all want, Mr. Brewer, to have a long-term stable business relationship with Mr. Hansen. Here's to our thriving partnership-"

Brewer gets up from his chair and sways towards you. He could barely walk straight but he still manages to stand behind your chair, lowering his head right where your ear is.

As he speaks, he reeks of wine and meat.

"I'm talking to your boss, bitch. " Brewer snarls, slapping your hand so hard that your wine glass falls to the table. Startling you when you are trying to stay calm. "You are but a plaything to Lloyd Fucking Hansen and I'll have you whether you like it or not."

Now here's the difference between Brewer and the rest of the men who pass you to get to Lloyd's office. For those men, they work for Lloyd, and hence, they wouldn't dare to touch "Lloyd's belonging", which is you. Brewer, on the other hand, is a total wild card, which you understand perfectly as Lloyd worked with him to kill Brewer's adoptive father Fitzroy.

He is as unpredictable and unstable as Lloyd, maybe even more so, because Lloyd certainly hasn't laid a finger on you ever since you worked for him, neither sexually nor violently.

You even your breath as Brewer leans closer He grabs your boobs with his hand, having you freeze on your seat.

"In fact, I'll invite him to watch how I fuck his pretty little whore."

The chill seeps deep into your bones. You urge your body to fight back, but sanity tells you that you would probably end up in a dumpster with a bullet hole on your forehead if you ruin this big deal for Lloyd. For a brief second, you think about begging Lloyd. But in reality, your mind is point blank as the mindset in between "fight or flight" kicks in, and it instructs your body to play dead.

It might be a few seconds. Or a few minutes, before your savior swoops in, saying something that sounds like mumbling to your brain.

"We're done here." Lloyd growls, snatching your wrist with a grip hard enough to bruise, tugging you harshly to leave. Your knee and thigh bump into the wooden arm of the chair, to which you bite your lip in pain, and still too shocked to get your language system back online.

"But our contract-" Brewer shouts to Lloyd.

"I'll get back to you." Lloyd snaps back, pushing and shoving your back to move before him.

Your mind is a blur and cannot recall how Lloyd stuffs you into his limo when he steps outside to smoke. He did, however, throw his coat onto you and shut the car door with a loud "thud", having front-row driver Denny lowering the panel between you, whispering with much concern, "What's wrong?"

You curl your fingers into the black woolen coat. Folding it neatly as you have done hundreds of times when he throws his coat over you or over your desk. Placing it on your legs.

"Here. I'll tune the AC up." Denny showers you with his sympathetic look, as he has never seen you so out of yourself, so soulless, and shivering.

Your mind has been replaying how Brewer grabbed your boobs, and the filth he talked about. You also know that you have nowhere to hide, if Lloyd is determined to get something done, if he wants to deliver you to Brewer.

Though the tinted car window muffled some of Lloyd's angry shouting, you are still able to comprehend that Lloyd just got mad again.

"... CALL ME WHEN IT'S DONE!" Lloyd yells at his phone, opening the car door, and sliding in, taking a big inhale of the warm air inside. Glancing at you, he seems not having returned from his angry state, "AND THIS COAT IS NOT -" He lets out a grumpy huff, "never mind."

After a moment of silence, you feel like you should make your statement, no matter if Lloyd being unreasonable. You simply have to.

It's your life at stake here.

"Mr. Hansen, I just wanted to tell you that it has been a pleasure working with you these past three years. i have gained much experience and knowledge working as your personal secretary and assistant. I want to express my thanks for you cultivating me into a qualifying secretary and no matter what happens, I would want you to know that I cherish our business relationship and accept the consequence."

Lloyd listens through your statement surprisingly patiently, and pinpoints the most crucial idea (he thought that it was) throughout your entire speech, "You want a raise?"

You stutter, "No-No! Mr. Hansen! I wouldn't - What you have given me is well beyond market average and I appreciate your confidence in me."

"Ah. So you want to quit?"

His cold blue eyes stare into you. You gulp in fear.

"Yes, I mean - No, I don't want to quit. But circumstances have ... arisen, which makes me wonder ... uh, if I was able to -"

"I've had enough of it." He grumbles, twisting the ring on his finger, "Your next sentence starts with 'I want' and stop using these big words, sunshine. One sentence. Not another word."

"I - I want you to not deliver me to Suza Brewer." You quickly say, "Mr. Hansen." You did your best to be respectful.

His grumpy expression lingers on his face for a second, before turning into disbelief, "That's all you're asking for?"

"Yes...? I really liked working with you, Mr. Hansen, and I don't want to be put into a position that you are choosing between me and your ... business." Seeing that his mustache is twitching, inching close to a sneer, you add, "If you could just let me go, and claimed that I slipped through your custody or got away as soon as I could, I think that Mr. Suza would not mind that much -"

His index finger points up to shush you.

Lloyd snorts, fishing out a box of tictac and popping two colored-candy into his mouth.

Crushing the sugary treat with his jaw, he closes his eyes and roots his upper body firmly onto the back seat, "Denny, take us to the warehouse by the Westside Pier."

The Westside Pier.

The one place Lloyd would go to if he captures a traitor or fulfills a hitman contract.

The one place he could make a body completely go away.

He's about to end ... you?

The cold October wind does nothing to help you fight against the icy feeling in your bones.

The stylist Denny founded accompanied you during shopping and chose a most-fitting black dress for you, which goes a little over the knees. Along with the warm AC everywhere, the length didn't bother you -

-until now.

You hold Lloyd's folded coat in your hand, following Lloyd out of the car with teeth clattering, more out of cold than of the horrible thoughts of what he would do to you.

Lloyd turns around, grunting in a sarcastic way, "Can't believe your clever brain didn't work out why the coat-" before he stops whatever that's about to go through his lips, roughly taking the coat from your hands and putting it around your shoulders, "Try not to freeze to death."

Your hesitant expression must have been obvious, because he looks at you and purses his lips in slight irritation, "Don't do anything stupid. And follow me."

What does this even mean? That he doesn't want to kill you after all? Or that he has changed his mind and thought you know too many secrets to be alive?

Your mind buzzing with thoughts as you follow Lloyd through the gate of the notorious warehouse.

The swinging lightbulb over your head and the faint smell of blood make you nauseous. You have not stepped foot into this warehouse because you have heard of the cruel things Lloyd has done to his opponents, all of which happened here.

"I don't care how much your boss pays you, I-I'll pay you double!" A man screeches pathetically, taking hit after hit on his stomach from Lloyd's muscle man as two other hold him upright.

Looking at Lloyd's direction, the man's swollen and bruised face lights up in an instant.

"Lloyd! Buddy!" He gobbles in a mouthful of blood, "So glad, ehhehe, you came!"

Lloyd grabs his hair, and punches him in the stomach.

"Fuck you, buddy," Lloyd swings another punch at Brewer's stomach, a cold smile on his lips, "fuck you, alright?"

A sharp scream of pain. "Lloyd, I don't understand-"

Lloyd drags his head in front of you, bending his neck to face you, to which you cover your nose because of the strong smell of blood bombarding your nerves. "There. She's my people. You disrespect her, you disrespect me. Got it, you dumb fuck?"

"Sorry!" The man shrieks his apology, "I'm sorry!"

Oh. So that's what he meant.

You bury your nose under his soft woolen coat. Burying the lower half of your face. Your cheeks getting warm, and a small grin creeps up.

Feels kind of nice. To have someone watching over you.

"Our business," Brewer pants, coughing out blood, losing a few of his teeth, "you need me to do our business, Lloyd."

Lloyd smirks, waving to gesture the removal of Brewer.

The man is still screaming he's sorry, but the two muscles hold him by his arms, forcing him to stand on the edge of the pier and tying a large rock around his waist.

"But Mr. Hansen," You stop him in his tracks, "your business, your deal with-"

You point towards Suza Brewer, now with a gag so all he could manage is some muffled voices.

"Don't worry your head around it, sunshine." Lloyd places his hand on the coat collar and tugging it tighter. The look on his face blank, but somehow more sincere than his cold grins, "I'm working with his stepbrother now. Pal is so grateful that I help him take care of Suza; he decided to offer me 70% of the cut."

You let out a whispered "Oh". Glad that Lloyd's "business" is thriving but also ... not that glad.

He's doing this for his business after all ... while he'd get to ... make it up for you?

A strange feeling tugging your heart. Some sort of relief, but not entirely. You are disappointed, somehow, as if you believed there should have been more to this gesture.

The muffled screaming stops after a loud splash comes from the edge of the pier.

The three muscle men return. One of them announces: "He's been taken care of, boss."

Smelling the whiff of blood on them, you can't help but crouch onto the ground and hurl your guts out.

Lloyd gestures those men to "beat it". And as the air clears from the smell of rusted iron and salt, a white handkerchief dangles in front of your eyes.

"Don't puke over my shoes again." Lloyd stands still, pinching his handkerchief between his index and middle finger, handing it to you.

You gag a few times, covering your mouth with the smooth white handkerchief, turning into another direction other than his shoes.

"Mr. Hansen, I don't know you -" You fight the instinct to be sick in front of him, standing up from your crouching position with wobbly legs, "carry a handkerchief." You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, wiping the corner of your mouth using the white fabric, now stained with the red smudge of your lipstick, "I'll dry clean it along with your coat, and send it-"

He seizes the handkerchief and stuffs it in his front pocket, "Don't bother."

He pats on your shoulder. The same way he would pat his men. A silent encouragement and praise of "Good work".

"Mr. Hansen, I-"

You want to say something. The precise moment when your heart skipped a beat and you've captured something vague in your mind, some terrifying yet imminent. Your bones rattle in the possibility of the blurry idea. But when his blue eyes turn to you, the idea takes its chance and slips from your mind.

"-thank you." Is all you could say.

"Wait for me in the car." He searches his pocket for his box of matches and cigarette, waving his hand, shushing you away, with the cig between his lips. He sounds stern as ever, but deep down, you feel like something has changed.

Lloyd watches you as you head back to the car. You, his tiny, fragile, delicate, poor little secretary who gets sick at the sight or the smell of blood.

He watches you still wrapped in his coat. When the cold October wind sweeps by your feet, you shiver under the warm expensive wool.

He stares for a long time when the match used to light his cigarette burns the tip of his fingers.

"Shit." He grumbles.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🩶 Exposure Therapy as Whump 🩶

Exposure therapy is a practice used to treat phobias, PTSD, OCD, and other mental illnesses. The patient is exposed to their triggers, usually starting with easier ones and moving up to harder ones once they’re comfortable with each trigger, until nothing about the phobia/event/obsession bothers them anymore. Since I’ve been through exposure therapy, I thought I’d use my experiences to write some prompts! I want to note that exposure therapy doesn’t have to feel overwhelmingly distressing. It’s intended to associate formerly scary things with positive, grounded feelings, so it’s actually not so bad if it’s done correctly.  BUT if it’s done wrong, well…

TW: bad therapy practices, rocky recovery

Whumpee jumps ahead to a more difficult level of exposure. Maybe a whumpee with a fear of heights decided to go straight to the top of a tall building instead of just starting with their balcony, for example. They immediately panic and regret it.

Whumpee backslides in their progress and becomes frustrated with themself.

Whumpee punishes themself when they can’t get calm enough or can’t get to the next level of exposure. Of course, this only makes the whole process more stressful.

Whumpee comes out of an exposure session while still feeling emotionally raw and has to go straight into a stressful situation afterwards. They feel nervous and shaky - maybe on a stage or at a presentation or a confrontation with whumper.

There’s no time to let whumpee slowly overcome the fear, because they’ll have to face the real thing tomorrow in some high-stakes crisis. So they just expose themself to the scary thing (or images/video of it) as much as possible, all night, until they feel totally desensitized and numb. <- Fun fact: this is called “flooding”

Caretaker is trying to keep whumpee calm during exposure sessions - teaching them grounding techniques, breathing, etc. - but whumpee won’t cooperate. They want to hold onto the fear because they don’t know who they’d be without it.

Whumpee feels invaded by exposure therapy. Trying to not be scared feels like a betrayal of their own emotions. It makes them resent Caretaker.

Whumper is the one in charge of whumpee’s exposure therapy. They make it as difficult as possible by intentionally pushing whumpee too far, punishing them when they struggle, or making them feel more unsafe.

The fear is conditioned away, but whumpee is left with anger and sadness in its place. This is especially good for PTSD scenarios. They’re no longer scared of whumper, but still angry and lost. It’s almost worse. 

[sunlightmurdock]

SunlightMurdock’s Spook Week 🎃

Writing for: canon Bradley Bradshaw and Jake Seresin as well as any of my variants so far mentioned in series’ or blurbs, as well as Rhett Abbott and Tyler Owens

* No longer taking requests at this time *

Pick from prompt from either the:

Standard Halloween list

Spooky list

Cozy list

or; ask a question about one of the guys!

Please send all requests with your prompt + person / pairing + the vibe of your choosing (can be cozy, spooky or sexy regardless of which list you picked from). FIC KEY:

🎃 = fics containing spooky subjects

🌶️ = fics containing smut

🍂 = fics that were requested!

* please still read all warnings before engaging.

All drabbles / blurbs / ficlets will be posted from Thursday 24th October to Thursday 31st October, and will be posted under the tag #spookweek.

currently scheduled:

handing out candy with firefighter bradley

bonfire night (at the frat house) with MFIY bradley

having a halloween party with Jake and Apollo 🌶️

getting lost in the woods with Rhett Abbott 🎃

cuddling under a blanket and lazy days in with Jake 🍂

summoning a demon with Jake 🎃🍂

comforting the scaredy cat amongst them with dbf!Jake & mechanic!bradley 🍂🌶️

‘wearing a flannel shirt’ with Bradley Bradshaw 🌶️🍂

going to a carnival / fair with Rhett Abbott🍂

Log cabin + sharing blankets + cuddling under blankets with Jake Seresin 🌶️🍂

‘stop squirming, you’re going to ruin your face paint!’ with Rhett Abbott🍂

bear hugs with Tyler Owens 🌶️🍂

thunderstorms and pillow forts with Bradley & Bambi🍂

pillow forts with Sub Rosa Rooster and Lil Kazansky 🍂

"you're like the toughest person i know! am i really supposed to believe that a horror film is enough to have you cowering into my lap?" with Bradley Bradshaw 🍂

cozy bonfire with Rhett Abbott 🍂

Get lost in the woods at night with Tyler Owens 🎃🍂

Carving pumpkins with dilf Bradley

Decorating for Halloween with ff Bradley

Thunderstorms + cold hands with sugar daddy Jake 🌶️

Exploring an abandoned hospital with Aeterna Jake and Bradley 🌶️🍂

“i love you, i swear i do, but we're not wearing matching costumes." with dilf Bradley 🌶️🍂

scary movie marathon + flannel shirts with bradley 🌶️🍂

Questions!

some of your OCs fears and phobias with Aeterna Jake and Bradley

dividers by @issysh3ll 🧡

[jayjj7]

chapter 17. realization

prev. | next | masterlist

after receiving the news from haerin about your whereabouts, you get off the bed you’re on.

“shit!” the first step you take is into a bucket, your second step you take to try and balance yourself is supposed to be the floor but you step into another bucket knocking it over. this unbalance causes you to trip onto the floor with a loud crashing noise due to the…5..? buckets around the bed..?

you groan from the pain and that’s when you notice the throbbing headache you have but before you can get up from the floor, the door swings open.

“y/n?” danielle walks in with a first aid kit in hand. a panicked look is on her face as she expected you to be on her bed but instead are on the floor.

“oh my god y/n! are you okay? do you feel like throwing up? are you too hot? too cold? do you want-“ danielle rambles as she squats down to your height to help you lift yourself up from the floor. this is when you notice you’re not wearing your scrubs, you’re wearing a grey hoodie with black sweatpants. as hard as you try to remember, you don’t remember changing out of your scrubs. the last thing you can remember is being in danielle’s car.

“what? no dani i’m fine, seriously” you look up at danielle to see subtle eye bags on her face.

out of instinct you grab her face, tracing your thumb underneath her eye. “you didn’t sleep did you?”

“no i was so worried about you. come i made you breakfast” she brushes off the fact she didn’t sleep much last night way too quickly as she grabbed your hand to lead you out of her room.

danielle had served you some warm stew and scorching hot ginger tea. it was at this moment you realized how…orange…her hands were..?

“thank you dani i really appreciate it, you didn’t have to do all this really” you thank as you blow on your soup to cool it down.

“this is all my fault y/n i have to fix it” her voice is sad, probably exhausted because of how little sleep she got. danielle sits down next to you on her dinner table, tired, one arm is posted up supporting her head.

“no it’s not, don’t beat yourself up for that please” you look at her with a smile to try and cheer her up but her expression is serious.

danielle can only sigh, “i made a doctors appointment for you. it’s in a couple hours” she avoids eye contact, fidgeting with the zipper of her sweater.

“you what?” you drop your spoon in your soup.

“dani is hate the doctors” you whine, covering your face.

“but y/n, you’re a doctor?” danielle has genuine confusion painted on her face.

“but not for people!”

yes you’re veterinarian but you were always scared when you had your bi-yearly checkups at the doctors. ironic you became a vet knowing how anxious being near a hospital made you. there wasn’t anything that prompted you to be so scared of the doctors or anything, no bad experience as a kid, just a phobia.

so there you were: sitting in the waiting room, awaiting your name being called, danielle next to you, trying to call you down with pictures on her phone, explaining the story behind each picture. danielle’s almost motherly demeanor helped you ease up a bit, laughing quietly every once in a while. leaning your head on her shoulder and closing your eyes helped you feel grounded. that was until your name was called by a doctor who had walked out.

“y/n?” the doctor calls out after looking down at her clipboard.

suddenly your calm state was erased and anxiety filled your body as you froze. heat rising in your body, unsure if you should run away or not. thankfully danielle was there to assist you. she was the first to stand up and help you up by holding your hand and rubbing your back. she treated you as if you were unable to move properly but in reality you were just scared shitless.

as you and danielle walk up to the doctor to follow behind her, she interrupts.

“oh sorry only relatives are allowed to be let in with the patient” the doctor holds her hand hand in front of danielle as a ‘stop’ motion.

panicked at being left alone, you say the first thing to pop in your head to counter this obstacle.

“she’s my s-“

“i’m her wife” danielle smiles as she rubs your back.

“my mistake, come on in” the doctor instructs as she lets you both in. your face heating up as you follow the doctor into a room, danielle taking a hold of your hand.

taglist : [ @modanisgf @greenniee @milfcr @idkwhatim-doinghere101 @urwyf3 @flolio @imahallucination11 @pandafuriosa60 @kaypanaq @nnewjeansstuff @haerinkisser @brocoliisscared @starrynini05 @l-e-e-woso @kimminjiswife @herlv3r ] taglist is open !! comment to be added !

[cas-kingdom]

Would you write for criminal minds, Spencer and his sister? Something fluffy, brother & sister, I really suck at prompts so hopefully this is enough 🥲

“Did you know there’s actually a phobia of your glass being empty?"

The bustling and noise of the Las Vegas club was no match for Spencer Reid. Sat at a bar stool while he waited for his glass of water, the genius grinned openly as he struck up in a one-sided conversation with the barman.

"It’s called cenosillicaphobia," he continued obliviously, "a mouthful, I know. Breaking it down to the origin; Ceno comes from a Greek word 'kenos', meaning empty, whereas 'sillica' refers to quartz, or glass in this context. Lastly, 'phobia', as you may know, means fear. Putting it all together, you’ll have 'the fear of an empty glass'. Neat, huh?"

As unit chief, Aaron Hotchner was privy to many aspects of his team members that the others weren't. He could usually tell before anyone else when someone would react a certain way, or when a particular case would hit someone the hardest. As he sat at his own stool, partly engaged in conversation with Derek, Rossi, and some girls he couldn't quite remember the names of, and partly with an ear and eye geared towards Spencer's direction, he found himself focusing specifically on you.

As your twenty-first birthday and graduation gift rolled into one, the team had banded together to afford a weekend trip to Vegas. You'd arrived earlier that evening, and after an expensive meal you'd dragged them all to a club. It had gone down well of course, with J.J., Penelope and Emily immediately dancing off the copious amounts of alcohol they'd already drunk, and Hotch, Spencer, Derek and Rossi entertaining their conversations with whichever women decided to walk up to them.

You had flit between both groups, at one point hauling them together in the middle of the dance floor when you insisted the BAU's song—'Ghostbusters', of course—was playing. For the past twenty minutes however, as the clock steadily approached four am and the girls resorted to sitting cross-legged in a corner somewhere, giggling about anything and everything, you had been hovering by your brother and sucking melted ice through a straw. The moment Spencer had started talking, however, you'd edged closer to him, and Hotch had seen it.

His suspicions elevated when the barman handed Spencer his drink with a less than impressed look on his face. "Thanks for that," he deadpanned.

Spencer hopped off his seat with a grin. "You're welcome!" he said before making his way back over to the guys.

Hotch took a sip from his drink as he watched. He ignored Spencer as he rejoined the conversation, instead sidling discreetly closer to you. Like he'd said, he knew his team, and he knew you. He knew how you could be. And he knew—

“Fucking freak," said the barman.

There.

Hotch paused, brows furrowed. The man hadn't said it particularly quietly, causing the people around him to laugh, but Spencer was too engaged in conversation now to have heard it. You, on the other hand...

Hotch watched, unsure whether he should be amused or concerned, as the muscles in your face tensed and you lay your forearms on the countertop. Leaning over, you grasped the man's shirt sleeve none too gently, tugging him backwards before he could turn away.

“Hey, Tim," you said, noting his name badge, "you know...I absolutely love what you’ve done with your hair. Tell me, how’d you get it to stick out your nostrils like that?”

Despite the drunkenness of your, quite frankly awful, insult, the barman bristled. Hotch stepped quickly forward and sent him a look that clearly told him to keep his mouth shut. The barman couldn't resist muttering under his breath, but he turned away all the same. Hotch put an arm around you and steered you back towards your brother before you could cause anymore trouble.

"How many drinks did you have tonight?" he asked. He'd indulged himself, of course, but, as always, had been the one to drink the least, if solely for the reason to keep an eye on everyone else.

You rolled your eyes. "Did you hear that jackass? Why do people insult him all the time, huh? Just because they're not as smart as him." With that, you pushed Hotch's arm away.

"Hehey, there's our birthday and graduation queen!" Derek cheered.

You ignored him, making a beeline for Spencer. "Hey, Spence," you said when you reached him, "what was that you were saying about cenosilliacaphobia?”

Spencer lit up. “You pronounced it right! What do you wanna know? Because personally I think it’s pretty interesting how you can go on to add the Latin word for beer—'cervisia'. In that case, you’ll have cenocervasiasillicaphobia, which is the fear of having an empty glass of beer!”

"That is so cool."

Hotch rejoined the group with a smile. One thing was for certain. A big brother would forever be protective of his little sister in the open, but behind closed doors, it was most certainly the opposite.

Criminal Minds Masterpost

[total-drama-brainrot]

father ophe shall you psychoanalize courtney

specifically her Problems™️

You know, as much as I'd like to say Courtney deserved better than she got, for the most part I think a lot of her suffering in Total Drama was easily predictable for a person with her characteristics.

And I don't mean that in a "Courtney earned everything she got by means of being a Bad Person™" kind of way. Because she's not - a bad person that is. But the fact remains that Courtney's depiction in the show, and most of her unfortunate actions/decisions, are a direct result of her character aspects. Her personality and drive. Her priorities.

In a more realistic show, she'd experience the same tragic outcome simply because she's too invested in winning, and that investment blinds her to the unsightly actions she can and will take to win.

So I'd like to preface this analysis with that; Courtney's actions in the show are easy enough to ignore as "poor writing choices", but they do make sense for someone with her particular temperament, chronic need for commandership, and perfectionism.

Let's start with season one Courtney (or Island Courtney).

At the beginning of the show in its entirety, we're introduced to a Courtney who's a lot less intense than the one we eventually come to know and love. In fact, Courtney in the first two episodes of the show is significantly different from how she's portrayed throughout the rest of the show; she's compassionate and caring (her concern for Izzy during her introduction), and she's far more rational and level-headed than her later depictions. That's not to say she's not the same competitive and managerial girl, she's just... more subdued.

Even her speech patterns are different - I remember there being some confusion about who her voice actress was in the first couple of episodes, simply because her voice is so much softer (and slightly nasally), though this can be excused by the fact that the VA was likely still getting a feel for her character and how she wanted to portray Courtney.

Of course, at the end of episode two, we get to see a glimpse of Courtney's competitive (and slightly unhinged) spirit in the little monologue she gives to the camera. A sign of things to come.

One thing I find particularly ironic for Courtney is this confession she makes about Eva, where she states that someone's strength doesn't excuse their "psychopathic" actions/behaviour. Given how she acts in later seasons, this really highlights either a complete lack of self awareness in Courtney herself, or a major shift of her priorities prompted by her deep-rooted need to win.

Episodes three and four seem to be where the real Courtney comes into play. She starts showing off the characteristics we'll eventually come to associate with Courtney's personality, most notably her quick temper and her need to be in charge/control of the team. Whereas previously Courtney had calmly cited her experience as a CIT to justify taking control, from Dodgebrawl and beyond she starts simply utilizing sheer assertiveness (and her team's unwillingness to challenge her authority, outside of Duncan) to order the Bass around. And it works. For the most part.

Then her romantic subplot with Duncan begins, and we get to see the less obvious aspects of Courtney's character come into play.

Her confidence issues and the value she ascribes to "strength" (in Phobia Factor, when she can't face her fear), her repressed rebelliousness and impulsivity spurred on by Duncan's influence (pretty much the secondary focus of episode 12, Basic Straining) and, in relation, her secret desire to be free from the constraints of being a "rule follower" and the lack of knowledge/confidence to seek said freedom.

And then she's eliminated. And something in Courtney shifts.

Which, to be fair, I'd probably snap too if I was unfairly eliminated via rigged votes from a competition I'd dedicated myself to winning, especially if the votes were rigged against me for the actions of my kind-of boyfriend.

In the interviews we get with her in Haute Camp-ture, Courtney is hell-bent on revenge against Harold for her elimination, and she's violent with her threats against him. And her acts against him - she literally attacks him with a light pole and then bends the metal of the pole around him.

People who are mentally sound don't trap people in light poles.

They also don't fixate on winning reality TV shows to the point that their relationships deteriorate underneath their competitiveness and drive, but I digress.

Action happens, and it's. A thing. Courtney's played as the second and more threatening antagonist of the season, and she fits into the role well. They really ramp up her self-entitlement this season to play into the whole "I'm a CIT and a lawyer in training" deal, to the point where she literally sues her way back into the running. And her louder personality traits are amplified to make her more objectively villainous - not in the sense that she herself is villain, more so that her actions and behaviour work as the catalyst for a lot of conflict within the show. None of the other girls can stand her, she actively suffocates her boyfriend under her perfectionist standards, so on so forth.

It's still Courtney, just more. Like someone dialled up the Courtney-meter to an eleven, and sprinkled in some extra temper issues.

It's not like this shift in personality came out of nowhere though. As I said before, she's already showcasing this new aggression and overbearing will to win in Haute Camp-ture, so we know that her initial elimination in Island is what prompted her mental descent into antagonism. Though at this point, she doesn't recognise her actions as unreasonable. To Courtney, everything she's doing is entirely justifiable, and anyone who disagrees with her is trying to sabotage her.

Just like Harold did.

Courtney's competitiveness and her willingness to do anything to win and, in part, innate aspects of her temperament, but they're also symptomatic of the trust issues her Island elimination instilled in her. Trust issues that cause her to alienate herself from the people around her, holding others to impossibly high standards and/or disregarding them as not worth her time, in a subconscious effort to prevent them from hurting her.

Her relationship with Duncan becomes rocky at this point because she's overbearing and distrustful, and he's averse to authority and flaky. Courtney's perfectionism and trust issues work directly against Duncan's own problems, and their romance crumbles under the pressure.

Or at least it would, if they'd stop getting back together.

And then World Tour happens.

Courtney is initially distrustful and avoidant of Gwen, because she sees everyone else in the competition as a direct threat towards her and her acquisition of the million, but slowly comes to see Gwen as an ally. And then a friend.

And then Gwen breaks that trust by kissing her boyfriend. The trust issues come back into play with this betrayal, and Courtney's more aggressive personality traits come into play once again. This time though, her intenseness is a defence mechanism against the people who've hurt her, not a means to fuel her desire to win.

Eventually she gets eliminated for putting what little fragments of trust she had left into Alejandro of all people, but to be fair she doesn't really seem that bothered about losing World Tour - if her continued support of Alejandro in the finale means anything.

And then, I've heard, All-stars is an awful season for her. I haven't watched it, so I can't comment there.

-

That about wraps up the summary, let's get into her mindset.

Courtney enters the show itself as a seemingly demure and responsible person. She's proud of her status as a CIT and future lawyer, and she strives to lead her team to victory.

From the get-go, we see hints of her internalised need for leadership, and glimpses of her perfectionism. As the series progresses, we get to see her character grow from someone who follows rules and regulations to the letter, to someone who isn't afraid to take risks and break rules to her own advantage - which directly opposes her perfect "goody two-shoes" mindset and feeds into that suppressed desire for freedom I mentioned earlier. We also get to see her temper come into play, as she becomes a lot more assertive and quick to anger as the season progresses.

The Duncney plot in Island could have been good for the both of them, had their eventual fate been written differently. Duncan taught Courtney how to let loose and be reckless, and Courtney could've taught Duncan the value of structure and control in day-to-day life. They balanced each other out.

Her elimination is where Courtney's Problems™ come into play. For the most part she was a bossy but bearable presence on the Island, and it isn't until she's booted off the show that her more manic and unreasonable behaviours start surfacing.

We know from her whole "uptight CIT" deal that she struggles with perfectionism, and confidence issues that stem from said perfectionism (since no one can ever be perfect all the time, that's just human nature), so she disguises her insecurity underneath a layer of fake emotional strength that usually manifests itself as pride. It can be assumed, given her track record of overachievement, that her parents are probably the ones that enforced the standard of flawlessness within her. To the point it became less of a suggestion or a goal, and more of a constant standard she has to live by.

Her unfair elimination hits her hard, not just because it gives her some trust issues (that are only exacerbated later on) but because losing the competition goes against her standards of perfection. She was supposed to win, and not doing so is falling short of her expectations.

Her perpetual need to be the leader is likely a symptom of control issues, which often times go hand-in-hand with perfectionism - it's easier to make sure things are exactly as they should be when you're in complete control of them. It's also probably a result of her upbringing as an overachiever or "Type-A", as leadership skills are seen as a desirable trait to cultivate.

You mix together her control issues, her perfectionism and her competitiveness and you have yourself a very volatile molotov cocktail of emotions ready to blow upon her elimination.

Another thing I want to touch on is how unaware Courtney is when it comes to other people's needs and desires. She's very egocentric in her perception of the world, and oftentimes ignores or just doesn't realise how her own actions can impact other people. The biggest example of this is her treatment of Duncan throughout Action, where the impossibly high standards she holds him to take a huge and visible toll on his health, but she doesn't seem to notice. Or care. Because she's so caught up in the idea of having a "perfect boyfriend" that she doesn't think to consider how said boyfriend feels about it.

This egocentrism also plays into her control/leadership issues, since she oftentimes sees herself as the only person qualified to lead a team of people.

So, to summarise:

Perfectionism instilled within her (probably by her parents) that lead Courtney to holding herself to impossibly high standards she can never hope to achieve.

Confidence issues because of these unachieveable standards that she compensates for with a "large and in charge" personality, feigning emotional strength by supressing her feelings, and getting as many academic and extracurricular credentials as she can get.

Despite the confidence issues, she sees herself as inherently better than other people, either because of her own achievements and "good qualities" or because the people around her don't meet her standards.

Competitiveness and ambition aplenty, fuelled by the perfectionism.

Trust issues thanks to the repeated unfair betrayals against her, that feed into her delusion of not needing other people, being better than other people.

Control issues that feed into her desire to always be in positions of power and/or leadership.

Egocentrism and a lack of awareness of others' thoughts and feelings, especially in relation to how her behaviour can affect others.

... Courtney has NPD.

Courtney has NPD and the stress of Total Drama acerbated it until Courtney herself became volatile and unstable.

But that's not the point of this post. Though it does explain the gradual shifting of her personality from a functional CIT to a semi-funcitonal Reality TV washup.

Her issues lead her to make decisions that seem rash and irrational, but to Courtney herself she's fighting tooth and nail against a cast that are actively praying for her downfall, so her ruthlessness is entrely warrented. She's a victim of her own delusions and trust issues, and a bigger victim of the horrors of Total Drama that led her to becoming the person she was shown to be.

Therapy and a lot of time away from competitions would do her a world of good. Getting herself out of the climate of Reality TV entirely could save her.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

The Experiment Pt. 1 | Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary| Jonathan Crane assigns his students a new experimental project: choose a phobia and research methods for coping with or completely overcoming those fears in test subjects. A student approaches Dr. Crane with an interesting project proposition... can he help her overcome her fear?

Warnings| Teacher x student relationship (both are consenting adults), Borderline sexual assault between a bf and gf, Erotophobia, Smutty stuff yk , Masturbation, P in V penetration, Teasing, Semi-public, Unprotected sex, Begging, Experiments. Extensive discussions of sex and intimacy.

"Oh My God"- Ida Maria 🎵

"Lazy Eye"- Silversun Pickups 🎶

"Romantic Lover" Eyedress 🎵

Word count: 3375k

Minors do not interact!!

.............................................................................................................

He leaned back on the desk behind him, his hands flat against the surface and his suit coat spread like grayish wings against his arms. Dr. Crane looked between his students, landing on a female student,  squinting against the projector’s harsh glare in his eyes. She looked back from her seat near the back of the lecture hall, a small twist forming between her eyebrows as she read the text on the screen just above his head. 

“I expect this won’t be much of a surprise to most of you, considering we’ve been working towards this for the greater part of the semester.” He watched the dozens of eyes in his hall blink rapidly in response and swallowed his distaste. 

“Remember that I study phobias- fear- and from the looks on some of your faces, it appears quite a few of you are afraid.” He chuckled darkly and changed the slide, the light flickered against the students’ faces. 

“Choose a phobia, research it, and develop methods of coping or even ways to overcome this phobia. You should have a test subject and a complete study, all of which should be straightforward considering the work you’ve done with me in the past weeks. The research paper you turn in will account for 30% of your final grade. Take this seriously. These are your instructions. Other questions can be directed to the syllabus. Only come to me if you have specific concerns regarding the experiment- I’m doing research of my own and don’t have time to meet with all of you.” He swallowed, scanning the class again and landing on the girl from before. 

Faye Greyson, why is it that her papers are so well written but she contributes nothing to class discussions? She seemed so pathetic sitting up there on the back row with her big doe eyes caught in the headlights of his lectures…he thought briefly and let it slide from his head as he dismissed the class. The college students around him fled from the room, talking quietly to one another as they scrambled out of the room. The girl came down the steps and brushed past him gently. She smelled like generic soap and rose water. He wrinkled his nose slightly, breathing her in. 

“Sorry, professor.” She apologized kindly with a smile that showed too much of her pink gums. 

“Watch it.” He muttered beneath his breath, giving the back of her head a dark glare and turning to pack up his briefcase. He took the rail to his lab on the north side of town, a book open across his lap. He fingered page 16, running his index against the straight edge of the paper and turning it quickly as he read. The doors opened at one of the stops and he glanced up briefly, fixing the horn-rimmed glasses on his face. He rolled his eyes when we saw Faye board the train from the yellowed platform, hand in hand with another student from his class. One of the boys that took the class because they were naturally gifted but did nothing besides attend some classes and depend on their smarts to barely pass. He would have some harsh realities to face by the end of the semester when he saw his final grade, Crane would make sure of that. 

He hated seeing students outside of class, it prompted them to speak to him when he’d rather both parties pretend they didn’t know each other. To be fair, they really didn’t know each other. Crane didn’t find his students very interesting so he wasn’t concerned with getting to know them. The only aspect he could muster some ounce of thoughtful contemplation for was their phobia projects, where he theorized, they would all most likely choose their own phobias. Knowing their phobias was about as interesting as their lives could get for him. Besides that, he could care less. 

The train was full so the girl held onto one of the rubber handles suspended from the ceiling, but because she was so short, she had to stand on her tiptoes to fully grasp the handle, her knuckles turned white in her grip. The boy… maybe Jason White (Crane couldn’t remember exactly) took one of the ceiling bars easily and slipped his arm around the girl’s waist. Their puffy coats slid against one another as they swayed in the fastly moving train car. The boy's hand left her waist and traveled up, somewhat discreetly, to one of her breasts. With her free hand, she swatted him away but he persisted, thinking that it was a game. Faye happened to glance over in Crane’s direction and recognizing him immediately, turned bright red. The boy’s hand slid over her hardened nipple visible through her pink jersey turtleneck. She tried to cover her chest with her arm but as the train shuttered in speed, she had to stabilize herself with her free hand against a plastic partitioner. Crane cleared his throat distastefully and returned to his book.

For some, the absence of fear is a greater disaster than fear itself. To fear nothing is to have no conception of danger, empathy, pain, or love. Do sociopaths fear? Some scientists have sought to answer this question but the evidence is inconclusive on the subject, though it is nearly unanimous among the scientific community that fear is essential to survival and companionship. It is the primal root of our existence and should be a present factor in every major part of our lives. It is how we make connections with others and how we protect ourselves and our own. For sociopaths who may not fear, they lack a basic foundation of complexity that supports an emotionally ‘typical’ person. They lack love, understanding, and hope because they do not feel the fear of potential loss, misunderstanding, and dread in the same situation. 

“Stop it, Jason.” The girl whispered harshly to the boy. 

“No one’s looking.” He whispered back and kissed her neck, the sound causing a wave of communal discomfort amongst the rail riders. 

“Perhaps not but we can still hear.” Crane muttered beneath his breath and raised his eyes to the young couple. The girl looked to be on the verge of tears, her face so pink it nearly matched the hue of her shirt. Crane noticed the small curvature of her breasts still showing through the fabric. 

“Damn the cold.” Faye whispered and covered her chest with her arm with embarrassment and Jason laughed condescendingly. 

“Don’t go blaming that on the cold….” Jason cornered her against the wall of the rail which Crane assumed would have been attractive to someone who wasn’t standing uncomfortably on a moving public train. 

“Can we at least just wait till we get off? I don’t…” She trailed off, making eye contact with the professor who was now thoroughly annoyed. Jason looked over too, finally seeing Crane across the doors. 

“Hello Mr. White.” Crane hissed, showing his deepest displeasure at having to step in for the sake of every passenger on the train.

“Professor.” Jason responded nervously. 

“Miss Greyson.” He nodded in her direction.

“Professor.” She whispered back in a weak mew of a voice. 

Crane stood, slid his book back into his briefcase, and clicked it shut. The doors opened at his stop and he turned around casually saying, ''behave yourselves,” to the two students and stepped down onto the platform. The doors closed behind him. He turned to face the windows cut into the doors, making eye contact with the girl, now visibly crying, overwhelmed and embarrassed. He tipped his head to the side, watching her, and raised an eyebrow as she looked up and met his clear blue eyes. The train shot away from the platform, sailing against the New York City skyline. 

“Hmm,” Crane hummed to himself and walked away, pursuing his chapped lips to whistle a low note.

——-—— 

His class met twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the evening. He commuted to work, taking a train to the college in the morning and working through the day until he could commute back to his lab and then to his small apartment where he slept most nights when he didn’t fall asleep on his pages of research and diagrams. 

Last night was one of those nights, so he wasn’t in a good mood as he boarded a later train than he usually took for his evening lecture. The train’s wheels squealed as they stopped in the station outside NYU. Crane hurried off and squeezed through the mess of people lining the subterranean station. He walked quickly through the station and raced up the stairs to the street level. He was met by the familiar sound of taxis whizzing by and the annoying laughter of students as they passed on their way to classes and dorms. 

He went straight to his corner office and put coffee on, relaxing as the smell of the brewing grounds filled his small office. He scanned his lecture notes on a pad of manilla paper and with a red pen, scribbled additional thoughts in the rigid margins. The coffee maker sputtered to a stop, steaming up the window just behind it. Crane pushed away from his desk and filled a small cup with the hot coffee. As he placed it on his desk, a hesitant knock sounded at the door. He checked his Rolex and muttered beneath his breath. 

“Shit. What the fuck is it now?” He gritted his teeth, “come in!”

His office door opened slowly and a girl stepped inside the room. Faye Greyson wringing her small hands, took a step toward his desk. 

“Good evening, Professor.” She greeted him quietly. Her nose and the tops of her ears were tinged with red. 

“Miss Greyson, what is it?” He sat back at his desk and cleared his throat. 

“Well, I just…” She trailed off pathetically and wrapped her arms around herself. She was wearing a light blue turtleneck this time with dark blue boot-cut jeans. They were low rise and showed the small pouch of her stomach that surrounded her bellybutton. 

He waited for her to finish her sentence but as the seconds dragged on, he sighed. 

“Would you like some coffee?” He asked with a hint of unkindness. 

“Yes, actually. Thank you.” The girl pulled the chair on the other side of the desk back and sat down, dropping her bookbag on the floor beside her. Crane took a second cup and poured her some coffee. She took it carefully and accidentally brushed her thumb against his. She muttered an apology. 

“Why are you here?” Crane asked plainly, removing his glasses and wiping them with a small cloth. 

“I just… well I just wanted…” she started again. 

“Yes I know, you said that before.” He chuckled darkly and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, losing his patience. 

“Right. I just wanted to apologize for the other night, Dr. Crane.” She said finally, exhaling between her lips sharply. 

“Apologize for what?” Crane furrowed his eyebrows and blew on his steaming coffee, trying to remain patient with his student. 

“For what you saw on the train.” She cupped her hands around the mug, her eyes held tightly to the adjacent wall, refusing to meet his. 

“Ah.” He sat back in his chair. “I’d forgotten about it but I still don’t see why you need to apologize. You’re an adult, Miss Greyson. What you do in your personal life doesn’t interest me in the slightest.” He shuffled through his papers again, searching for the scans he had prepped. 

“I’m glad that you see it that way, sir. Why I felt like I needed to apologize for was the whole scene we caused and how you felt responsible to say something when he wouldn’t… stop. So, maybe what I’m trying to do is thank you?” Her voice ended at an odd nasally pitch. 

“Thank me? For what? For telling you and your boyfriend to behave yourselves?” He was getting more and more confused as to why she was in his office talking to him about a train ride that he had almost forgotten about. He checked his watch again and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Yes, because he stopped after that, so thank you.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs and he could smell that familiar scent of rose water permeating the air inside his office. 

“Alright, you’re welcome.” Crane exhaled tightly and cleared his throat when she didn’t stand or say anything else. “Is there something else?” She nodded and blushed deeper, shifting in her chair. His jaw clenched and his palms were sweaty. Out with it, he wanted to growl. His lecture started in an hour and at this rate, they would both be late.

“I broke up with him.” She said finally as a tear rolled down her face, gliding along the shallow cliff of her cheekbone. He said nothing, restraining himself from saying anything at that point. She sniffled and hiccuped pitifully. He pitched his eyebrows together with his index and thumb, placing his glasses on the desk between them. 

“Why?” He asked finally. 

“Because I was scared of him.” The girl answered, crying softly and playing with her hands in her lap. She looked up at him with wide eyes, red and faintly smudged. His body subconsciously perked up at the mention of fear and he leaned forward on his elbows, his dress jacket’s elbow patches grinding against the wood surface. 

“Well it wasn’t that I was scared of him but rather what I felt like I’d have to do with him.” She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. Crane took a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it begrudgingly. She took it and blotted her nose where snot was leaking down onto her upper lip. He felt a fixture of disgust and surprise arousal. Her long eyelashes stuck together with sticky tears and she but her lip to keep from crying. 

“I’m not sure I follow you.” He pushed his glasses up farther. He lifted his cup of coffee to his lips and drank deeply. 

“I was scared of having sex with him.” She hid her face behind her shaky hand, the white handkerchief wavered in the movement. Crane swallowed loudly and set the cup down, clearing his throat. 

“Well…” He traced his mouth with the edge of his thumb, reaching for words to respond with. 

“It's erotophobia.” She added and hiccuped. 

“Fear of intimacy, interesting.” He scanned his bookshelf for a moment. “Why are you telling me this?” He sighed and rearranged himself in his chair. 

“I want to do my project on erotophobia,” she took a slow sip from her cup of coffee and took a deep breath, “and I want to be the subject too.” She glanced up, testing the durability of their eye contact. He didn’t look away, he was fascinated. 

“I don’t know about that, Miss Greyson.” He answered smoothly and collected his papers into a neat pile, clamping a large binder clip around the papers. He stood and took one last sip of coffee, still looking down at the girl below. 

“I’ve been looking for subjects since I saw this on the syllabus a month ago. There aren’t any, Professor.” She said timidly, sounding almost exhausted.

“That’s impossible, we live in New York City. You must have been able to find someone!" He laughed and collected his things into his arms. 

“And yet,” she stood and clasped a hand around her opposite arm, “I can’t find anyone. To be fair, this sort of thing isn’t easy to find in the population. Other people in the class will choose their own phobias, why can’t I do mine?” She turned as Crane stepped around his desk and went to his office door. 

“This is a very special situation, Miss Greyson. While I find your project topic surprisingly thought provoking, it’s…” He struggled to find an adjective. 

“Inappropriate?” She offered, lowering her head. 

“Perhaps but I don’t really care. I just worry that by you conducting the experiment and being the subject, you are jeopardizing the entire outcome of your research. It's unorthodox to say the least.” He opened the door and stepped out. The girl grabbed her bookbag and followed, standing off to the side while he locked his office door. 

“Yes, I know sir.” 

He walked quickly and she followed, matching his stride even with her shorter legs in tow. At the door of the lecture hall, Crane stopped. 

“We can talk about this later,” he nodded down at the girl and went straight to his desk on the elevated platform. She smiled shyly and climbed the stairs to the middle section of seats and sat, closer to the front that she had been before. Crane saw the old boyfriend in the same seat as before, chewing on the end of a wooden pencil. Exhaling, Crane dropped his briefcase on his desk and began to unpack the papers he needed for the lecture. 

________

After he dismissed class, he repacked his things and snapped his case shut, the sound echoing around him in the large room. The girl waited just behind him, he could feel her presence like an unseen bug hovering out of reach. 

“I-” Faye started but Crane spun around, interrupting her. 

“Have you tried masturbation?” He crossed his arms across his chest and sat on the desk. His student blushed and laughed nervously.

“See this is why I worry about you jeopardizing your own experiment. I asked you about masturbation, will your subject try masterbating to approach correcting her fear of sex?” He inclined his head in her direction. 

“Yes, she’s tried it,  Professor.” She responded short of breath. 

“And it hasn’t helped?” He furrowed his brow. 

“Not exactly.” 

He licked his lips quickly and brushed a hand across his mouth. “And uh, what does the subject think about while she masterbates?” He watched her shift uncomfortably between her feet and bit her lip. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Hmmm.” Crane hummed and stood up from the desk. He stepped down from the platform and stopped right in front of the girl. She looked up at him, her eyes wet and heavy with color. She took a step back prompting a quiet tittering from her teacher who stopped her.

“Ah, ah.” He closed the distance between them, not touching her but getting close enough to smell the residue of generic soap caught on the goosebumps of her skin. 

Crane leaned in, his wide lips brushing her earlobe as he spoke, “does your subject watch pornography?” Her skin warmed beneath his lips. 

“No.” Her breath hitched and Crane could physically feel her discomfort at his intimate proximity, the rush of blood to her… 

“Has she ever had sex?” He whispered, allowing his lips to rest on the ridges of her small ear. She shivered. 

“No.” 

He pulled away. The girl exhaled and looked up to the ceiling. With strong, angular fingers, Crane pulled her chin down to face slightly so that he could see her eyes. They glistened with inklings of fear- fear. 

“Then that’s what it is.” He muttered more to himself than to Faye, smiling. 

“What?” She asked, tears forming in the wells of her eyes. 

“It’s the physical aspect of it, isn’t it? Having to touch someone, be touched… outside of your imagination?” He crossed his arms across his chest proudly. A few moments of silence passed between them, each watching the other in contemplative stillness, charged with suggestive energy. 

“Yes.” She whispered finally and ran one of her hands up the buttons of her professor’s shirt to his neck. She went to kiss him but he stepped away and chuckled roughly. 

“No, no Miss Greyson. Think of the experiment.” He chided and turned her chin gently away, trailing his hands down a tendon in her neck. 

“Tell your subject to try masturbation and pornography. See where it takes her.” He took his briefcase and pushed past her, leaving a residue of rich cologne in the air around her.

---------

end of part 1 :)

[disasterbuck]

and deep in your soul, an unmendable ache

A poem about Eddie's breakdown in the end of s05e13: Fear-O-Phobia. - from Buck to Eddie

'Why me?' you whisper under your breath, 'Why am I still here, when I'd rather be dead?' And your heart beats violently inside your chest cause you can't take it back, can't clean up the mess. 'It's no use, what's the point? Everyone always dies,' you say as you look up, no hope in your eyes. There's blood on your knuckles and tears on your face, and deep in your soul, an unmendable ache. My love, let me sit with you here on the floor. Don't get up; rest your head, let your body restore. I know pain is a constant, your partner unseen, and you think you're too much, but you're not – not to me. Whether covered in bruises or unblemished skin, my feelings won't change; I'm always all in. And no matter the hopelessness dragging you down I swear on my life I will always be 'round. So open your fist and let go of the gun, allow me to lead you back into the sun. And no matter how hard you try to resist, I will always be so fucking glad you exist.

Written for @eddiediaz-week Tuesday prompts 'Why me?' and Whump.

[warrenposts]

I Know It Hurts

I Know It Hurts (Lockwood x Reader)

Request: Prompts 3, 11, 12 with Scenario 1 for @avelinageorge + 3 with Scenario 4 for anon

Summary: You get hurt on a job and are forced to face a phobia in the hospital followed by comfort from Lockwood back at Portland Row

Warning: Slightly graphic description of needles

Word Count: 5K

Requesting Information Here            Masterlist

“Y/N!” Screamed Lockwood.

You barely registered his desperate voice as your back hit the fence of the cemetery, having been forced off your feet and tossed to the side by the Ghost. You fell to the ground and looked up to see Lockwood slicing the ghost through the stomach with his rapier. You’re not sure how he made his way across the grounds to you so quickly but you're glad he did.

The ghost dissipated for a moment and Lockwood turned his back to you, shielding you in case she apparated close by you again. “Lockwood,” you groaned, struggling to stand after the blow to your side. It took you a moment, but eventually you pulled yourself up to your feet and stepped away from the fence, grimacing with each crunch your boots made on the gravel. 

You were confused as to why it hurt so much more than it should have and glanced down only to be faced with blood, fanning out on your shirt. You couldn't pull your eyes away from the sight and started to feel sick, hands shaking as your mouth went dry. Time slowed down for a minute before you were quickly snapped back into reality when you felt someone grab your arms.

"Y/n," Lockwood was shaking you gently, holding your biceps to keep you upright. That seemed like a good idea since you felt yourself tip back, about to stumble back into the fence. "No, no, no, none of that." You heard him insist as he pulled you away from the hazard.

Your body responded limply and feel forwards, which he let you do this time by wrapping his arms around you and slowly lowering you to your knees then safely into his arms. He held you in a seated position, keeping you upright against his chest.

Groaning at the sticky sensation you glanced down and flinched at the sight, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"It's all right, I've got you," he soothed. "It's not that bad, you're gonna be okay. We'll get you-"

He was interrupted by the sound of Lucy calling out over the now hauntingly silent graveyard, “We got it! We got the source! It’s over...” Her voice trailed off as she and George came to a halt, eyes widening at the sight before them.

After a second of shock, the two ran over and dropped down by your side. "We've got to get them to a hospital!" George analyzed, although it didn't take a genius to draw that conclusion. They were all thinking the same thing as they watched the blood pool on your side.

"No!" You interrupted, choking back a sob as Lucy pressed her hands down over your wound, something Lockwood seemed too in shock to remember to do. "I'm okay, no hospitals," you strained, trying to push Lucy away, hoping it would ease some of the pain. The two boys were quick to stop you and you threw your head back in pain as you fell back into Lockwood’s chest.

"You need help, Y/n." Lockwood insisted. "We're not equipped to deal with this."

"Please," you begged. "I can't do hospitals, with all the death and needles and," Your words were cut short by you trying to catch your breath ad you began to panic at the thought.

All eyes on you were drowning in sympathy. "It will be easy, I promise."

"Don't lie to me," your voice was small and helpless, something they'd never heard from you before. You couldn’t help the tears that fell from your eyes as you became more and more aware of the pain. Reality started to kick in when you heard the DEPRAC relief sirens, blaring down the street and you shot a hand up to grab one of the arms that Lockwood had wrapped around you. He tightened his grip on you and you started to tremble, struggling to come to terms with the fact that whether you liked it or not, they were taking you to a hospital.

Lucy coaxed, "We'll be there the entire time." You vaguely heard her sniffles as she bit back the tears threatening to fall.

“That’s right,” Lockwood spoke softly into your ear. “We won’t let them hurt you.”

Time was warped in your mind and you only clued in to the fact that you were being pulled into an ambulance on a gurney when you could no longer feel Lockwood behind you. You started to panic as the paramedics shoved your friends away, telling them they can meet you at the hospital.

“No, no, no, no,” you objected. “They have to come with me they-AH!” You were interrupted by a sharp pain in your side and looked down to see the longest needle you’d ever seen embedded into your side. Continuing to scream, you jerked away and tried to fight them, doing anything you could to dislodge it from your side. The paramedics held you down tightly while they fished out the anesthetic and all the distress you were feeling built up in your throat. “LOCKWOOD!” You screamed as tears streamed down your face.

You vaguely heard the voice of Barnes, shouting out to let Lockwood into the ambulance and before you knew it, his grasp returned, exactly where it belonged.

You were quick to squeeze his hand, tighter than you ever thought you could. Everything was so intense and moving too quickly for you to catch up. "Lockwood," you sobbed. "Please, make them stop," you begged.

“It’s alright. I know it hurts,” he soothed. “We’re almost done, I swear.” He kept glancing over to the people surrounding you, silently asking for any indication that the words he was saying had any truth to them.

Despite his comforting hand tightly holding yours, thumb rubbing gently over yours, you couldn't keep the agony at bay. You still felt the air catch in your lungs and strangle you, taunting you in your torment. The ambulance felt hot and much smaller than it actually was and there was nothing you could do to control the rapid suffering of your lungs. Lockwood’s voice was far away but you were still happy to hear it, it being the last sound you hear as your eyes fell shut and you drifted off into suffocating darkness.

When you awoke, Lockwood was already awake. He sat by your bed, sleeves rolled up his forearms to sit just under his elbows, one of which was propped up on the armrest as he rested his knuckles against his temple. You could see his tie was missing and he'd undone a few buttons on the shirt that was now disheveled, blood-soaked and smudged with grave soil.

 His eyes glanced over to you and when he saw you shifting around, he was quick to move and take a seat on the edge of the bed to instantly start fussing over you, “Try not to move,” he coaxed.  “You're okay, but you shouldn't move.”

In an attempt to sit up, you glanced down and immediately took notice of the IV needle sticking out of the back of your hand. Lockwood sighed in sympathy at your realization. You took a shaky breath, feeling the bile build in your throat. “Lockwood.” You hadn’t planned your next words; in fact, you were barely aware of the one you’d just said.

“I know, I know,” he hushed.

Your throat was starting to hurt with all the hyperventilating you'd done. "I-" You couldn’t do this again. You were exhausted from the anguish that today had caused you. Impulsively, you decided that if nobody was going to listen to you then it was time you pulled off the Band-Aid yourself. You reached down, fumbling to grab the IV line but Lockwood grabbed your hand and pulled it away while the other stayed petrified on the bed.

He sighed, frustrated that he couldn't make this easier on you. “I was hoping you’d sleep through all of this-”

“I can't do this again-" You whispered, voice hoarse from all the screaming. He’d never heard such desperation in your voice and every moment of it made his heart ache.

“You need it," he insisted, rubbing his thumb over your hand while you squirmed uncomfortably. "To stop it from getting infected.”

“I can do that with a pill,” You argued, dropping your head back onto the pillows behind you, no longer able to hold the weight of it up as you started feeling hot and sick.

He reached out and shifted the monitor so you couldn't see the time left on the IV drip. “It will be out before you know it," he soothed.

Every word that left your mouth was purely impulsive and happened without any prior thoughts. “I’m going to pass out," you choked, hardly registering what you were even saying, "or I'm gonna rip it out." Honestly you didn't even mind which; you just wanted one to happen soon so you could have some peace and get rid of the sickly feeling that rolled in waves over your body.

The needle on your hand started to feel bigger than it was and the quantity increased. Soon you felt one poking every vein in your body, tormenting your vulnerable position.

Rapid beeping echoed throughout the room as you heart monitor increased speed. Lockwood was quick to react. He let go of your hand and ducked under the IV line to crawl into the bed. He positioned himself behind you, holding you more upright so you could breathe easier. "It's alright," he whispered. "I'm here, I've got you, just breath and everything will be okay."

He held your hand in your lap and kept his other arm around your waist. Your heart warmed at his actions. He didn't even think about it, you were scared and he wanted to do everything in his power to help you. You tried to listen to him and took a deep breath of air but it was shaking and croaky. Regardless, it helped for a moment but soon your attention returned back to the needle and you tightened your grip on Lockwood’s hand instinctively.

He let out a forced laugh and began whispering into your ear. "You think you’re stressed? Your bestie George was practically pacing a hole into the floor.”

His words caught you off guard, it wasn't a strange claim but why was he bringing this up now? You shifted slightly to look over your shoulder at him and, while minding your wound, moved you so you were tucked under his arm. You still rested on his chest, but now had a better angle to lock eyes and ask, “Is he okay?”

“Completely bonkers," he insisted, cracking a mischievous grin. "By now he’s probably broken into the café, trying to cook you something better than the hospital food.”

You let out a small laugh, which at this point felt like such a foreign concept. "I wouldn't put it past him."

“Can you imagine?" He teased, "Lucy pulling him by the legs, up in the air as he clings to the oven?”

Giggling again, you tilted your head in thought. “Knowing him, he’s stealing a heart or something from the cadaver lab.”

Lockwood furrowed his eyebrows, putting on a fake look of concern. “Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t have left him alone.” He began glancing at the door, comedically trying to look into the hallway for your friends.

“He’s with Lucy," you defended in an unconvinced confidence, if that could classify as defending him.

“Yes," he laughed and countered, "the second worst influence.”

“The first being you?” You asked, raising an eyebrow to his theatrics.

“No! George." He argued, "He stole the skull remember?"

“Yeah and Lucy stole ring, twice,” you mocked. "Remember?"

“Maybe she is two,” he caved, smiling at how your demeanor had changed. He didn’t dare ask if you were feeling better, but he never let go or stopped the soothing tracing on your hand.

“Okay so ‘You, Lucy, George, me’,” You listed, looking up at him for confirmation.

Scoffing, Lockwood did a double take and further continued the debate. “George is not last.” 

You groaned and leaned your head onto his shoulder. “I’m afraid to say it but he is usually the voice of reason in our little group.”

“We’re doomed,” he replied, resting his head on top of yours.

“It’s not like he enjoys it,” you defended. “It’s just that the bar for what we consider responsible is so low, thanks to you.” He would have loved to point out that your current condition rated you at least third on the ranks but he didn't want to redirect your attention back to your situation.

“Okay fine,” he gave in and negotiated. “Lucy, then Me, George. Final ruling.”

You gently shrugged causing him to lift his head off of yours, much to your disappointment. “I can live with that,” you agreed. “If you’re comfortable being wrong.” Lockwood narrowed his eyes as he smirked and opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by a voice entering the room.

“Sounds accurate to me,” George agreed, entering the room with Lucy by his side. They looked uninjured but still worse for wear, tired at the very least.

She glanced at the needle but Lockwood kindly and subtly shook his head. She couldn’t stop wringing out her hands in discomfort, unable to bear seeing a sight so similar to Norrie. It hurt to see her best friend in such a state and couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so she was grateful when George took the lead.

“Don’t worry,” He nudged your arm and flopped onto the chair by the bed, stretching his legs out onto the mattress. “When we get home, I'll make you Noon Khamei,” he smiled, even more so when you mirrored his expression.

Lockwood let out a ‘tsk’ and scolded in an amused voice, “You’re too soft on her.”

“Says you, cradling her in your arms to distract her,” he proclaimed, his often deadpanned voice now laced in humor.

Lockwood felt a pang of nerves in anticipation of your reaction but you didn't start panicking. Instead, you smiled softly and croaked out in a small voice “It’s helping,” you admitted. “But do you know when I-” As if on cue, the monitor next to you began rapidly beeping and Lucy was quick to react. 

She was yanked out of her concerned trance and announced, “The drip is finished, I’ll get the nurse.” Before speeding out of the room. It was obvious that she couldn't wait to get you out of there.

When Lucy returned, she had a nurse in tow. The two stopped at the door and Lucy rasped out, “George? Could you come here?” She looked nervous and assumingly only called George because she didn’t want to pull Lockwood away from you.

You watched the two intensely as they spoke to the nurse; whatever Lucy was hearing seemed to dial up the concern that already took residence on her face and George began shaking his head, clearly disagreeing with what he was hearing.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” You asked, not taking your eyes off them, hoping it was clear to Lockwood that you needed him to either lie or comfort you.

He shrugged and joked, “They’re probably just interrogating George about the missing hearts in the morgue.”

You wanted so badly to take comfort in his words but by this point you were at your limit and just wanted to go home. “Please just get me out of here,” you exhaled.

“It’s alright,” he whispered into your ear. “I know it’s been rough, but you’re safe now and I won’t let go of you again.” You took a deep breath, taking in his words and feeling a wave of comfort when he pressed his lips to your head.

The three approached and you swallowed your fear as best you could. “Give it to me straight, Doc,” you joked, although your voice didn’t have a whole lot of humor to it. “How long do I got?”

He nodded and ignored your discomfort. “We’re concerned about the state of the environment in which you were injured,” he explained. “You said it was a cemetery fence that cut you?” He asked. Despite him doing his best to explain himself, you began to feel impatient. You just wanted him he’d get to the point so you could go home. The walking on eggshells was starting to bother you after a whole evening of pain and losing your autonomy.

“That’s right,” Lockwood answered after seeing you freeze. “Nasty accident,” he eased, always trying to dampen the danger of any situation. 

“Well, we believe that it’s in your best interest to receive a tetanus shot,” he announced.  “To prevent serious infections that may have congregated from the rust on the fence.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” you reassured, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I've had them before. When I was a kid,” you confirmed.

“It’s not always enough and a sixth dose is always recommended at your age,” he pushed. “It’s the best avenue to prevent us from having to see you here again.” 

‘Was that supposed to be a joke?’ You thought. “I’m sure it will be okay-” You started to get the uneasy feeling that regardless of what you said, he was going to do as he liked. That’s what doctors usually did. ‘No, that’s not fair. It’s his job and he’s just trying to help you.’ You reminded yourself. ‘You’re just stressed out. You have to remember, your friends are here. Lockwood is here.’  That’s when you looked around and realized that in all the commotion, you’d forgotten that you had people looking out for you.

At first the idea that you were being forced into a situation that you hated, one that made you so afraid and sick with no control over what happened to you, just reiterated how cruel DEPRAC had been to you over the years. But it wasn’t like that anymore, you had your friends and they were just as intent on getting you home as you were. It was a new experience that you were still getting used to but it was true none the less.

“It’s alright, It won’t be like before, I swear,” Lockwood promised, maneuvering himself to look at you directly. “I’ll be here the entire time.”

“We all will be,” Lucy chimed in, this being the first time she’d confidentially spoken all day. She lurched forward to grab your hand and you barely noticed the needle that was still lodged in your hand.

“Only when you’re ready this time,” George added. “Only when she’s ready,” he repeated, looking at the nurse who nodded in confirmation. 

You thought for a moment. You still had no choice on the outcome but this time your friends were going to make sure it happened on your terms. “Okay,” you whispered, looking upwards, trying to remain as confident as possible.

Your friends all started smiling, their chests swelling with pride as the nurse left the room to prepare. George spoke first, “I had no idea you were afraid of needles.”

“George,” Lockwood gently scolded but you were quick to ease their minds.

“It’s okay, hospitals have always bothered me,” you informed. “They stick you with the needle when you’re not ready or prepared or even aware it’s happening.” They all nodded and you tried to find the words to explain yourself. “It’s like, the moment a doctor walks into the room, I know that nothing I say or do matters, I've been completely robbed off all autonomy.”

“It won’t be like that this time,” Lockwood promised, now sitting beside you on the mattress. He cycled between rubbing your back and gently brushing your hairline as you spoke.

Smiling, you locked eyes with him and said with absolute confidence, “I know. I trust you.” George and Lucy shot each other a look that neither of you caught.

You didn’t tear your eyes away from him until the nurse returned with a second following beside. They explained that they were going to remove the IV, give you the shot then you could be discharged.

“Are you ready?” Lockwood asked. It had been the first time you’d ever been asked that before getting a needle and you couldn’t help but smile as you nodded.

The man from before got to work disconnecting the IV from your hand and you couldn’t help but feel the nausea return. However, the moment you started taking deep breaths, your friends all started talking to you about random facts from the case. Lucy held your hand and Lockwood refused to move from your side.

When the nurse asked him to move, he simply swapped sides to give them access to your arm. As he took his seat on your opposite side, he brought a knuckle up to your jaw and gently turned your head to be looking at him, pulling your attention away from the needle in her hand. “Just let us know when you’re ready” he asked, causing the nurse to halt her actions.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on him and whispered, “Go ahead.” You still felt sick and uncomfortable but you knew you were safe and it was enough to help you get through the last of the prodding. 

When it was finally over, proud smiles were plastered onto your friends faces and George let out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. “Brilliant, let’s get you out of here then,” he declared before rushing off to collect the discharge papers. Lucy followed, practically sprinting after George.

It had been almost two hours since you were finally sent home and George had made the Noon Khamei cream puffs he’d promised and Lucy had given you a blue teddy bear she’d bought from the gift shop in her frantic exit to collect the discharge forms. They made tea and Lucy sat with you for a while George went upstairs to check on Lockwood.

After a while, Lucy had started to doze off on the couch and you encouraged her to go to bed. She was reluctant to leave you but you promised that you were happy with some quiet time in front of the fire. Since then, you had sat on the couch finishing your tea and fiddling with the blue, fuzzy bear that Lucy bought. You hadn’t seen Lockwood since he set you down where you’d asked and you’d began to worry that you’d exhausted him today.

After George went up to check on him, you’d heard the shower running for some time. Since then, it had been silent and all you could think about, now that you were alone was Lockwood. How in your moments of distress, all you wanted was him and when faced with a situation where you could barely breath, he’d made it all the more bearable.

Your frantic thoughts were interrupted when you heard someone step into the room.  “Nice teddy bear” Lockwood commented, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed in a pose you were sure he’d practiced. His hair was slightly damp and he was now dressed in black sweatpants and his grey hoodie. You always found it comforting to see him in such a calm, domestic state.

A smile broke onto your face, “I’m calling it ‘Henry’.”

Lockwood shook his head and pushed himself off the doorframe and began walking over to you. “After the ghost that nearly killed you today? You’ve lost it.” It didn’t take long before he was towering over you as you sat, nestled on the couch. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“I’m sorry I yelled today,” ignoring his question, you were quick to apologize, now much more conscious than you were on the field. “The pain made me a little delirious and you were just trying to help."

“Don’t be,” he shook his head in an unsteady fashion. He didn’t look so good; a little shaken and disturbed. “It was a rough day," he shrugged. "For all of us.” You were waiting for an unconvincing smile but he never gave one.

“I’m just glad to be home.” Something warmed in Lockwood’s chest every time somebody described the place as ‘home’, you could see it in his eyes, clear as day.

For the first time since you arrived home, he locked eyes with you and you let out a breath of relief when you saw the subtle smile on his face. “Well perfect reason to never let it happen again,” he joked before his smile turned bitter sweet. “I couldn't bear it,” he admitted.

The silence made you a little uncomfortable under the circumstances, you weren’t sure what he meant by that but you decided to overthink it later. So instead of asking you just raised your plush bear up a little higher and asked, “Couldn’t bear it?”

He tried so hard to not smile, but he couldn’t hide it, “Damn, Lucy.” You laughed at his feigned frustration and set the bear down next to you on the table.

“Will you sit with me?” You asked, scooting over on the couch to make more room for him. “It really did help at the hospital.”

Lockwood swallowed and took a nervous breath, fidgeting slightly where he stood. “You need to rest,” he declared.

“But- But," you fake stuttered, feigning a pout in a dramatic fashion. "It's so uncomfortable over here all on my lonesome."

“No,” he insisted, a genuine smile now slowly growing on his face. He narrowed his eyes in false disapproval, the smile giving him away. “I won’t spoil you just because you have been so careless as to injure yourself.” For a moment, he lost the humor in his tone and it felt like you were being scolded.

“Really,” you pressed. “I’m sorry I panicked so much, I just-”

Lockwood was quick to interrupt you and softly asked, “How could you ever be at fault for that?” He seemed serious in his question, genuinely confused as to why you held yourself accountable for that.

“Maybe you’re just not bothered because you’re so infatuated with me,” you teased. “Can’t do any wrong in your eyes.”

He held the eye contact, almost challenging you and you were relieved that your usual dynamic had come back into play. “Oh, you’d like that wouldn't you?” He asked.

“It was nice taking advantage of how much you care for me,” you opposed. You both has matching smiles lighting up your faces. It was a nice contrast from the previous events of the night.

“I’m afraid to say, I'd gladly do it again.” He admitted, “You might be on to something.” It almost sounded like a confession or admission but you chose to accept it as confirmation.

“How do you always know exactly what I need?” You asked, “at the hospital, you completely distracted me.” It was a fair question. You were aware of how well you all knew each other but Lockwood seemed to have a hold over you that you couldn’t quite identify.

“Because you’re obnoxiously vocal when you’re uncomfortable,” he teased and gave in, taking a seat next to you before shaking out the blanket that had begun to slip off your lap so it was now covering you both.

“Well, that’s because I know you’ll cater my every need and desire," you mumbled, leaning in immediately to his side.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, mumbling into your hair.

“Everything is a little sore,” you admitted. “But I’m glad it’s over, I feel better now that I’m here.” You didn’t specify whether you meant Portland Row or your current position, but it didn’t really matter. Either one was true.

Feeling your eyelids start to drop, you turned as subtly as you could, nestling further into his side, hoping he'd pull you in to cuddle closer with the arm he had draped over your shoulders.

He didn’t pull you in, instead he tapped your arm and started indicating for you to sit up. "Uh-uh," he softly protested, guiding you to an upright position. “You shouldn’t sleep on the couch in this state. Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Immediately you threw your head back and began pouting at his actions. “Nooo, it’s so hard to get comfortable,” you practically sulked. “And you just sat down," you added, hoping to appeal to his own exhaustion.

"We'll I wouldn't have if I'd known you were this tired,” he bickered back. “Besides, what does that matter?" he asked.

"I don’t know,” you mumbled, not shifting your weight to keep him on the couch. “It’s just more comfortable with you,” you admitted sheepishly.

His heart burned at the way you practically buried your face into his chest, he tilted his head back, starting at the ceiling to hide the giddy smile that fought its way onto his face. “Well, you don’t get everything you want just because you’re hurt,” he goaded, still nudging you to sit up.

“I get you, don’t I?” You asked, locking eyes with him after he gently pulled you to your feet.

“You do,” he whispered and he held your face gently in his hands before tilting your head down to press his lips to your forehead. You closed your eyes and held his wrists tightly, leaning in further as didn’t to find much separation between the two of you anytime soon. “You do get me.”

"Will you stay with me tonight?" You pleaded, looking up into his eyes. “You need to rest just as much as I do.”

“Well, in the interest of not giving in to everything you want,” he teased, gently shaking your head in his hands, causing you to laugh and pull them away from your cheeks. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. “Whatever you want.”

“Lockwood?” You asked softly, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He hummed in response. “Don’t forget my bear.” The frustrated huff that left his nose was worth the profanities you were likely to read on the thinking cloth in the morning.

[babyjakes]

safe smiles. [blurb.]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | august '23 general requests blurb night

summary | your daddy helps you face your fear of dentists.

pairing | soft!dentist!daddy!steve rogers x little!reader

warnings | sfw regression. reader is afraid of dentists. soooo much comfort from daddy!steve (who is a dentist hehe <3). depictions of dental/medical setting and procedures.

word count | 453

requested by @super-soldier-sandwich | This is my formal request for a dentist!daddy blurb!

an | this has been a looooong time coming sweet friend, thankyou for sending in your request and hope you enjoy the sweetest softest safest daddy!stevie!!! (i think i might make a longer dentist comfort fic at some point, maybe with a reader who has a more severe phobia, but for right now i thought this would be a good little introduction to the idea hehe <333

"Deep breaths, sweetheart. You're doing so well for me. Daddy's just getting everything set up, okay?" You try to blink back your tears as you watch your daddy preparing the little tray of tools next to his stool. "Look baby, nothing scary," Steve tries to reassure you, letting you get a good look at each of the instruments.

"Pokey, Daddy," you whimper, pointing to one of the sharper-looking tools.

Steve nods sympathetically as he picks it up, explaining to you, "I know it looks a little sharp, doll, but I promise it won't hurt. Daddy will just use it to scrape gently against one of your teeth to make sure it's nice and healthy. Remember how Daddy told you that teeth are kind of like bones? Your teeth are super strong, so you won't even feel the pokey part."

Steve pulls on a pair of gloves before pausing, giving you a comforting smile. "Are you ready, sweetheart?" he asks softly. "Can I tilt the chair back so we can get started?"

You try not to whimper as the strange mechanical chair moves beneath you. Your daddy helps you fit your head into its place, bringing the adjustable light down a bit to shine over your face. "Keep taking big breaths for me, princess. Daddy's so proud of you; you're being so brave," Steve praises as he sees your nerves heightening again.

"The first part is easy; we're just gonna brush your teeth, okay little one?" he explains as he prepares the small electric polisher with some toothpaste. "The brush is gonna make a funny noise, but that's just because it's working hard to clean better. Can you open wide for me, baby?" Steve prompts gently.

You look at the brush with big eyes, feeling more tears well up as you try not to shrink away from the dentist sitting beside you. "Oh sweetie," he frowns, setting down the instrument as he senses you're not quite ready. "It's okay, we can take our time. Daddy's right here," he promises, reaching over to hold your hand soothingly as he lets you calm down. "Daddy's not gonna make you do anything until you're ready, okay honey? Just breathe, you're okay. You're safe."

Though the thought of your daddy performing a dental check-up on you is frightening, you know he's being truthful. He would never force you to do anything before you were ready and willing, which is comforting to know as you do your best to face your fears. "Good, there you go, doll. See?" Steve smiles as he sees your fears settling again. "You're doing so good, y/n. Are you ready to start? Just stop Daddy at any time if you need to, okay?"